


premier dans mon coeur

by msspook



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ballet AU, Fluff, M/M, Pining, Romance, Social Media, Viktor isn't retired, Yuuri never started skating, ballet!yuuri
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-21
Updated: 2017-05-03
Packaged: 2018-09-19 01:24:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 85,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9411251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/msspook/pseuds/msspook
Summary: [INDEFINITE HIATUS]Viktor, the long-standing champion of figure skating. Yuuri, the premier danseur of the Bolshoi ballet. And Yuri Plisetsky, the up-and-coming who somehow drags them together in St. Petersburg.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Viktor falls and isn't so sure he's ever going to be able to get up again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> inspired by the ballet au made by onthemeander on tumblr. please be sure to go and show them some love on their artwork, because it is ridiculously cute!
> 
> not beta'd! hmu if there are any grievous mistakes xx
> 
>  **art inspired by this chapter:** [piyo-13, viktor meeting yuuri!](http://piyo13sdoodles.tumblr.com/post/159329368751/holy-shit-breathing-was-he-breathing-did-he) 2017/04/12

Viktor wasn’t wild about ballet.

He was trained in it, of course, necessary for most figure skaters to have some sort of background. It aided flexibility. Put grace to your movements unlike any other style of training. With Yakov as a coach, it wasn’t like you would get away from it. He had his regimen, and a formula that worked; something that was going to make you an incredibly talented skater if you pushed and trained hard enough.

Naturally, Viktor had exceeded the expectation of how far one could push themselves. Further than most would. His now five consecutive years of nothing but gold and the winding list of records he held showed that clearly.

Admittedly sometimes it all felt a little boring; he didn’t have real competitors save his past self. Viktor wouldn't consider himself to be necessarily arrogant thinking in such a manner – confident, realistic even, seemed better. He would remind people he was talented when necessary, but he didn’t intentionally flaunt his status constantly. He liked the air of humility.

Yuri Plisetsky, though – Yuri might just challenge him a little more than other skaters. Viktor had watched him grow under Yakov’s coaching for years and had certainly admired his drive. He was fiery, not a soft-spoken artist type. It didn’t seem like Yakov was lucky enough to really get any of those when it came to his more elite students. That was the price you paid for skill, Viktor supposed. Still, Yuri’s attitude might be crude at times, downright mind boggling with his yelling at others, but something had shifted in the past few weeks in the fifteen-year-olds demeanour.

“I’ve never seen him this focused at practice,” Viktor commented thoughtfully, elbows braced on the plastic barrier as he slouched backward to rest. The teen, just old enough to qualify for the senior division this year, moved in steady fluid movements about the rink. Choreography, right now. He had been hammering out jumps earlier but if the flush on his pale skin was anything to go by, this was his version of cooling off - still working decently hard but giving a reprieve to his muscles.

“Your choreography was a wake-up call for him,” Yakov replied easily, giving a faint shrug of his shoulders as he studied Yuri with a careful eye. The older man would shout out instructions or critiques every so often, but Viktor was pretty sure Yuri had stopped listening about ten minutes ago. He could hear the noise of his headphones when he was close enough. There was no way he was listening to anything Yakov had to say at this point.

“Good,” Viktor commented thoughtfully, glancing over at Yakov. “He wanted me to program something that would win. I would win with it." Viktor hadn’t gone easy on Yuri’s choreography for the short program he had requested years ago. Even if Viktor had forgotten about the quickly made promise at one of Yuri’s junior competitions, he had thought it was a good gesture to craft a worthy, challenging program. Something that would leave a lasting impression of Yuri's skill and ability long after his senior debut.

“He wants gold,” Yakov said seriously, expression drawn in focus as he watched on. “Your choreography alone isn’t going to do that.”

“Well of course not,” Viktor laughed quietly, rolling his shoulders. They ended up speaking at the same time.

“He’s going to need plenty of practice to-“

“He’s going to need her help.”

“What?”

It was the sort of timing that only happened in movies, Viktor decided. As he looked over in Yakov’s direction in confusion as to what he meant, who _‘she’_ was, the door to the rink opened at the far end. His focus then, turned away from Yakov and in the opposite direction to see who had entered and seemingly brought the attention of the rink to a standstill, save Yuri who practiced on, and a few others scattered about that seemed to keep chattering.

Viktor didn’t catch much of the whispering but he didn’t need to, in order to know who had just entered the rink. He had been around Yakov for over half of his life, since he was a young boy. He would recognize that face, that posture, that air of elegance, anywhere.

Lilia Baranovskaya had the sort of presence that you weren’t going to ignore. Viktor had decided long ago that it went with being a prima ballerina. Even if she herself wasn’t theatrical in her personality or movements, rather quite the opposite now in favour of an air of professionalism and strict methods, she had a pull that was impossible to ignore. Viktor glanced back to Yakov in confusion and raised a brow. “You called in Lilia?” he asked quietly, and he didn’t expect to get a response so he wasn’t surprised when Yakov merely let out a little grunt in return and turned his attention instead to his ex-wife.

“Lilia-“

“Which one is he, Yakov?” her voice was serious as ever; Viktor didn’t need to turn around to know that her expression was most likely pinched in that familiar expression of focus. He instead kept watching Yuri out on the ice, nodding slowly as he worked through the step sequence.

“The blonde, still out on the ice. He’ll wrap up soon for a break,” Yakov offered, jerking his chin towards Yuri. Viktor scrunched his nose up. He wished that Yuri was working on something other than the step sequence; something that would impress Lilia. What _would_ impress Lilia? “Who’s this?” Yakov asked, and Viktor’s expression shifted into confusion as he glanced at Yakov out of his peripherals. What did he mean-

“This is my assistant and new premier danseur,” Lilia said, saying it as though Yakov should already know who it was. As if they hadn’t been divorced and out of each other’s lives for years. It almost made Viktor laugh, but he was more interested in seeing what sort of person Lilia was toting around with her now to do the grunt work she didn’t want to do. Viktor angled himself slightly so he could look over towards Lilia and-

“I'm Yuuri Katsuki. Wonderful to meet you finally, Mr. Feltsman.”

Viktor fell on his ass, elbows slipping out from under him from how he had been lounging against the boards. He went down, not hard, but embarrassingly enough as he stared up at the attractive danseur from his spot on the ice. Damn.

Holy shit. Breathing - was he breathing? Did he still _have to?_

“Nikiforov, get off of your ass and out of my way.” It was Yuri’s voice that cut in rather than anything else, and Viktor realized he was still sitting on the ice in a stupor, blinking as he looked at the man – Yuuri Katsuki, evidently. He tore his gaze over to the angry face of Yuri Plisetsky and realized that his posture on the ice blocked the exit of the other. Mumbling something that might resemble an apology if it weren’t so muted, Viktor brushed himself off and fixed his clothes, brushing off the ass of his sweats that were now frosted with ice.

He hadn’t fallen down in years, at least not like _that._ He wasn't sure what to be more embarrassed about; the fall or the fact he had fallen because he thought Lilia's assistant was attractive. Viktor would try to blame it on surprising of the danseur being rather cluse when he had turned. Collecting himself, Viktor cleared his throat and swallowed, realizing that Yakov had already turned his attention away from Viktor’s lapse and back to Lilia and now Yuri, introducing them. Viktor turned as gracefully as he could manage while he felt this flustered, and tried to listen in on what Yakov had to say to Lilia, but his focus was fixated primarily danseur that was still peeking over in his direction, eyes a mixture of confusion, curiosity, and interest. Viktor felt his throat get tight, unbearably so.

Before he realized it Yakov was leading Lilia away, and as a result, Yuuri too. Viktor blinked in surprise and tried to catch up with exactly where they were going, and why, before he found himself walking off the ice and abandoning his skates for sneakers.

\--

“He doesn’t need to be here,” Yuri objected, looking over as Viktor wandered into the room a few moments after.

“He isn’t hurting anyone by being here,” Yakov replied curtly, giving Viktor a look as though to say ‘don’t give me a reason to kick you out’. Viktor merely returned with a charming smile to his coach, and settled in against one of the walls nearby to watch.

“Whatever,” Yuri grumbled, before turning his sights to Lilia who was wasting no time looking him over. Circling him like a hawk. It was obvious that her arrival was just as big a surprise to Yuri as it was to Viktor, and part of him felt bad. Viktor had never worked with Lilia personally, he never had any need to, but it wasn’t something he had ever wanted. He had lived with her and Yakov for a time, and that had been enough for him to know that he would pass on being transformed by the former prima ballerina of the Bolshoi ballet. To put it simply, Viktor thought she was crazy; very intense, rigorous. That was the thing with ballet dancers - they all seemed to be brutal.

Besides maybe Yuuri Katsuki. He seemed soft, even if Viktor knew he was definitely seeing with rose-coloured glasses at the moment.

“He has promise. Terrible posture,” Lilia commented allowed, and Yuuri Katsuki seemed to nod in agreement as he too studied Yuri from where he stood, only a few feet away from Viktor but Yakov separating them. There hadn’t been any natural looking way to get to the other side, so Viktor settled for curiously peering around Yakov to peek at the handsome danseur. Lilia grasped Yuri by the jaw and turned his head one way, then the other, then tilted it back to look at the lines of his neck. Viktor made a bit of a face. Poor kid, he had no idea what was about to hit him.

“Barre,” Lilia prompted nodding towards it. It wasn’t used often, more for stretching than for actual exercise around here, but Yuri only made a weak attempt at a glare at her and moved over to it.

“What do you want me to- _ack, **fuck-**_ “

Lilia seemed to have no problem being hands on as she molded Yuri into the posture she wanted. Arms at the barre, torso curved just so as it bowed towards the ground, a leg up to form a straight, lean line. Yuri was flexible; that at least gave Viktor some comfort here. She couldn’t rip him apart on grounds like that. It was an advantage of being so young, he hadn’t lost all of the potential his body held. Lilia pressed him further into the position and Viktor watched as the thigh of Yuri’s grounded leg seemed to shake at the position.

“Basically abysmal,” Lilia muttered, tilting her head before she lowered him from the position. Yakov cleared his throat.

“Yuri is one of our most flexible competitors, Lilia-“

“Mr Katsuki, please,” Lilia gestured with one hand for the danseur, and her voice cut through Yakov’s easily with the sharp request. Viktor found himself wondering how many moments like that were a prelude to divorce. He wouldn’t pretend to know the ins and outs of it - it had never been his business - but he imagined Yakov would get tired of being cut off, particularly when she seemed so good at it. Yakov trailed off into a grumble and Yuri straightened himself out, turning away from the barre and window. His nose was wrinkled, evidently displeased with being called ‘abysmal’ of all things. That would light a fire under his ass, Viktor could already see the sparks.

Yuuri stepped forward and looked to Lilia expectantly. They shared only a glance before Yuuri gave a dutiful nod and rolled his shoulders before easing – and really he made it look easy – into what resembled a Beilman, though it was deeper and held more comfortably than Viktor had ever seen a skater do. Yuuri’s back arched beautifully and his head tipped backward, a leg extended and pulled effortlessly until his foot surpassed the line his head and torso created. The shape of a teardrop through and through; a much more beautiful, effortless position than what Yuri Plisetsky had just been wrangled into by Lilia's hand.

Viktor had to consciously work from not choking on the sip of water he had taken, or to not let his jaw fall lax and have it spill all over him. In his defense, Yakov and Yuri seemed to be just as taken aback by the ease of flexibility and athleticism that the man had, but Viktor assumed they were for very different reasons than Viktor’s. Yakov wasn’t into men. Yuri wasn’t into the idea of people existing in general, it seemed. Viktor, though-

Well, he could appreciate the view  _and_ the athleticism. 

Lilia’s expression was contented, perhaps smug for her, as she gave Yuuri a polite nod and quiet thank you before he relaxed out of the pose as easily as he had assumed it, leg floating back down and the curve of his back evening before he stood properly again. Viktor needed to speak to him. Physically _needed_ to speak to him, or else he was going to be severely pissed at himself that he didn’t take any opportunity to chat up the attractive danseur.

Yuri huffed from where he was standing at the opposite side of the room, and Yakov cleared his throat and gave the younger skater a pointed look. Gritting his teeth, jaw clenched hard, Yuri turned towards to Lilia and looked at her almost expectantly. Viktor watched with interest, despite still trying to recover from the blessed sight of Yuuri Katsuki, premier danseur, nearly folding himself in half while standing.

It was a good day, despite the fall.

His interest in the conversation between Yuri, Yakov, and Lilia quickly dissipated and he steeled himself, wiggling his fingers before he turned towards Yuuri. How many times could he quietly steal glances out of his peripherals before the other noticed? He didn’t want to be creepy- he had to say something, be friendly. He could do this. There was no ice and gravity working in tandem to make his leg slip out from under him now.

“Viktor Nikiforov,” he introduced himself with a pleasant, charming smile. Deep breaths. He was confident. He was good at talking to people; Viktor’s persona that shook the world over wasn’t something that could be entirely switched off. He just hoped it could benefit him as well, as he tried to make some sort of impression on the man at his side. Yuuri’s attention was grabbed, at the very least, and he turned from watching Lilia, to look at Viktor. His eyes were warm, brown and friendly; Viktor was pretty sure he could look at them all day and never tire of them. Not pretty sure. Certain. Confident in it, even. “It’s really nice to meet you.”

“Ah, Yuuri Katsuki,” Yuuri replied with a smile of his own, though it was soft and a little reserved. Something about it almost teasing, flustered. Viktor wondered if he was star-struck, or if he was remembering how Viktor had fallen on his ass in front of him earlier - or if Viktor was just hyper fixated because of his embarrassment. Both seemed plausible. Yuuri trailed a hand through his hair and pushed it back. The movement seemed absent but Viktor was appreciative of the clear view he now had of Yuuri’s attractive features. “The pleasure’s all mine. I’ve heard of you before.”

He was going to die. He was actually going to die. Of course, Yuuri had heard of him before; you couldn’t be into sports, or exist on the internet, and not know who Viktor was. That sounded cocky- Viktor mentally backtracked; how long had he been awkwardly staring at the other without saying anything?

“So…” Viktor cleared his throat promptly and tried again. “So how long have you been dancing under Lilia?”

“Only formally for a few months,” Yuuri replied with that same kind smile and warm tone of voice that made Viktor melt into his damn shoes. “We met before that, but I was under another company. I finally made the leap to work with her last Spring,” Yuuri continued, clearing his throat softly.

“And you’re already her premier danseur, huh? You must have really impressed her,” Viktor said with certainty, and the flush that crept across Yuuri’s cheeks was beautiful. _So_ damn pretty.

“I guess so,” Yuuri returned with a little laugh, hugging his arms around himself as he turned his sights back to Lilia and Yuri, watching her bend him into another stretch before he looked back to Viktor. “I was premier with my last company, but the style of dancing there, and here – Russia – is very different. It’s very… technical with Lilia.” Viktor sidled up to him and tilted his head, clearly tuned into whatever Yuuri had to say. The proximity seemed to darken the flush on Yuuri’s cheeks, up towards the tips of his ears.

Viktor found himself near swooning at the sight as he grasped Yuuri’s arm.

“I imagine you dance beautifully!” Viktor insisted without a moment’s hesitation, looking at the other with a certain fondness, admiration to his gaze. It boggled Yuuri’s mind just slightly, that the stranger seemed so confident in his ability, but… Well, he wasn’t necessarily complaining.

“You're too kind, Mr Nikiforov,” Yuuri replied humbly, though he felt like he was choking on his words as Viktor’s hands stayed on his arm, the Russian nearly hugging himself to Yuuri’s side at this rate. Was this a Russian thing? Or a Viktor thing? “My first performance as the premier danseur is this fall,” Yuuri continued, and Viktor nodded eagerly at the extra information, silently asking for more. Yuuri obliged, clearing his throat softly, “I’m a little nervous, because of the differences in style, but preparations are going well…” Yuuri trailed off, voice quiet by the end of the sentence. Viktor let go of him eventually and straightened himself out from where he had been hunched over slightly to lean into the danseur.

“Aww, I wish that I could see it! I’m sure if Lilia’s dragged you all the way to Russia to dance for her, you’ll be amazing,” Viktor insisted, the honesty of his belief evident in his voice alone.

“I mean- I could probably get you tickets if you actually wanted to see,” Yuuri started to offer, and the sentence was hardly complete before Viktor’s eyes were alight with glee and he had turned himself fully towards the other. His hands were pulled near his chest, and Yuuri blinked in surprise at the sudden pique in excitement from Viktor. The Russian leaned forward, and Yuuri leaned back in surprise.

“Really!?” he asked, voice maybe a little louder than it needed to be judging by the quick, sharp look Yakov sent in their direction. Viktor made a point to lower his voice; Yakov got tired of him flirting all the time and so when it happened, Viktor tried to be considerate that Yakov really didn’t care to know how he tended to woo people. Yuuri Katsuki, on the other hand, seemed a little mortified that they had interrupted the focus of Yakov, and his expression was downright apologetic as he looked at Yakov.

“I would love that,” Viktor said, tone a little calmer now as he attempted to haul Yuuri’s focus back to him instead of Yakov. It worked, Yuuri’s warm eyes turning back to him and focusing in on the excited expression Viktor’s face bore.

“Okay,” Yuuri said with a little smile, and then a nod. “If you just give me your number I can sort it out?” Viktor was too eager to inquire about why Yuuri would be so willing to pull some strings to get him a ticket to the ballet, and he was producing his phone without a moment’s hesitation from the pocket of his sweats.

“This means that you’ll have to come and see me skate, Yuuri,” Viktor said, leaning into the danseur’s name with a playful smile. He peeked up at the other between unlocking his phone to open the contacts screen.

“Well, I’ll be with Lilia for Yuri's training I’m sure, so I imagine I’ll see you skating plenty,” Yuuri replied with a little laugh, eyes fixed on Viktor’s hands as he tapped through the menus to get to the ‘new contact’ option. When the skater presented him with the phone, Yuuri hesitated a little with the Russian options, though the layout was the same as his own phone. He paused only briefly before typing in his name and phone number and saved the information in Viktor’s phone before hitting the ‘Message’ button.

The Russian keyboard was lost on Yuuri, still trying to learn the language to try and survive while living in Russia now. Instead of trying to write something, he settled for opening the emoji keyboard and pressing a few randomly from Viktor’s recent menu and then hitting 'send'. Viktor watched him as he went through the motions, and took his phone back when it was offered. He smiled at the fact that, even if he had horrendously embarrassed himself in a moment of lacking grace earlier, he had still gotten the danseur’s number. Maybe under the pretense of ‘let me get you tickets’, but Yuuri hadn’t objected at all to giving Viktor _his_ number first.

That meant something, right?

Yuuri was quiet as he added Viktor’s number to his contacts, saving him to the phone before the device was returned to the pocket of Yuuri’s jacket. “There,” He said with a nod, looking over at Viktor with a smile. “I’ll see what I can do. Would you need just one, or…?” he asked.

Was he asking if Viktor was single? That might be it; Viktor couldn’t really decide if there was interest there or if he was just wildly projecting now. He hadn’t even considered that Yuuri Katsuki might already, and most likely _did_ given the look of him, have someone in his life.

Viktor cleared his throat. “Oh, yes, just one- I mean unless Yuri gets jealous that I’m going and wants to go too,” he laughed, flashing Yuuri a bright smile. It was returned, and he got a nod.

“I’ll look into it for you, Viktor. I’d be happy to have you in the audience." Yuuri looked to Viktor as he spoke, but soon turned his sights back to Lilia, who seemed to be concluding with Yuri for now, gathering her things to go. Yuuri offered Viktor one last polite smile. “It was really lovely meeting you. See you around?” he offered, before he went over to rejoin the former prima ballerina.

Viktor knew then and there that he was completely dead. The cause of death, Yuuri Katsuki. Premier Danseur. Lilia Baranovskaya’s assistant. Potentially the most gorgeous man alive.

“Oi, Viktor,” Yuri barked from across the room, pulling his attention back to the here and now. Lilia and Yuuri had since left as Viktor stood there like a grinning idiot, satisfied with having obtained Yuuri’s phone number, and now it was only him, Yuri and Yakov left in the room. “You better not get in the way, asshole. If you fuck up my training for the sake of flirting with some stupid ballet dancer, I’ll kill you. I’m not losing gold just so you can get your di-“

“ _Yuri,_ back to training,” Yakov cut in firmly, cutting the teen off with certainty and a stern gaze. They seemed to clash for a moment, Yuri’s sea green steeling against Yakov’s blue gaze in a challenge. Yuri relented first as usual. He might have an undeniable, immeasurable amount of spunk, but Yakov had been dealing with far more, far worse, for far longer than Yuri Plisetsky.

Yuri shoved off where he lounged against the bar and grabbed his team jacket, slinging it on lazily. “Don’t do anything stupid, Nikiforov. This isn’t your season,” Yuri insisted in a growl that _might_ be intimidating if Viktor didn’t easily hold half a foot of height on the other. Viktor laughed it off, giving the younger boy a smile.

“I wouldn’t dream of it. Now go back and work on your new quad, it was lazy earlier,” Viktor waved off, not catching whatever profanity-laden chain Yuri spouted off as he stomped out of the room. Yakov gave him a firm look as he followed.

“I hate to agree with him but it is important. Yuri has a lot riding on this season for his debut. _You_ have a lot riding on this season if you're interested in keeping your title. Don’t get distracted by a pretty boy. Stay focused on what’s actually important, Vitya,” Yakov said firmly, and Viktor let out a whine of a groan.

“You’re worrying over nothing! I’m just being friendly to our newest addition to the family, Yakov!” If the grunt was anything to go by, Viktor knew he certainly hadn’t convinced Yakov of his intentions being _purely_ friendly. His expectation wasn't set extraordinarily high, seeing as he had just seen Yuuri for the very first time. But he couldn’t deny that sort of pull he felt towards the other. Viktor was a romantic, and if Yuuri Katsuki had sent him swooning after such a brief exposure, maybe there was something-

“I’m serious. Focus,” Yakov warned, before he too disappeared down the hallway to return to the ice.

Viktor looked down at his phone and smiled at the message of random emojis Yuuri had sent from his phone.

Even if purely platonic attention was all he could receive from the danseur, Viktor decided he would be more than contented with that, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> will i keep writing this au instead of things i had actual plans for??? probably
> 
> im on tumblr as [aphhun](http://aphhun.tumblr.com/). feel free to come yell at me about things.
> 
> 2017-03-07 => revised for continuity!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Viktor does some research and Yuri is the reluctant wingman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> note: I was totally overwhelmed by the positive response over chapter one. thank you! 
> 
> inspired by the ballet au by [onthemeander](http://onthemeander.tumblr.com) on tumblr.
> 
> beta'd by the wonderful [snow_falls](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Snow_Falls)

It probably said more than Viktor wanted it to when he reached the bottom of Yuuri Katsuki’s Instagram page.

In his defense, he thought anyway, Instagram had pushed the account at him. With the danseur’s phone number now stored in his contacts, there had been a prompt for him to look at the profile.

And who was Viktor Nikiforov to disagree with the lofty Instagram gods?

Viktor didn’t spend an absurd amount of time on social media. Not like Yuri, who seemed to get his very life force from uploading photos to Instagram, tweeting about whatever he was looking at, or bombarding the “Story” page of Snapchat with videos of his cat or the funny filters. However, Viktor had obligations, for business and for his own personal satisfaction, to keep things current. A post here or there of what he was doing, a short video of him skating to tease a new program, or a couple updates on his Snapchat story if something particularly interesting was happening. Nothing out of the ordinary; enough to keep interested fans satisfied, and sponsors contented with their coverage.

Keeping up with everyone felt good, and so he found himself perusing often. To see what Chris was doing and what country he was gallivanting to today; to peek in on what fans were discussing (though sometimes he wished maybe he hadn’t) or to scope out what competitors were doing. Viktor was never really worried enough to scrutinize, however. More than anything, it was nice to see what they were working on to see where they would place after him, who the up and coming might be.

Regardless, it was a surprise to him when he reached the bottomof the Instagram feed. He truly hadn’t intended to look through everything but it wasn’t easy to tear himself away once he had begun. There were photos of Yuuri getting acquainted with Russia, these sat at the most recent section the feed now, but as he went further back there were mostly just posts about ballet; seeing ballet, practicing, selfies taken in the classic full-length mirrors of pristine ballet studios. Videos of Yuuri doing beautiful turns and graceful movements, gliding across the studio floor with ease.

Before he knew it he was back to the very beginning, to five years ago with a younger looking Yuuri tentatively posting his first photo - a selfie with his poodle, who made an appearance in  _many_ posts.

 _‘At least now I know a little more about Yuuri_ ,’ Viktor thought, trying to rationalize his internet creeping at all costs. Yuuri had been born in Japan; which hadn’t been too difficult to tell between his appearance and his name. But he moved to the United States for ballet training and university; he stayed there under the American Ballet Theatre before joining with the Bolshoi Ballet this year. He had been in Russia since late January, and Viktor almost felt jealous that he hadn’t known him sooner.

Part of it really did feel odd; knowing so much about Yuuri and having only ever spoken to him once. For the first time, Viktor felt like he was in the shoes of one of the fans that pined after their idol. Like so many did for him.

He wasn’t sure how that made him feel exactly.

Evidently, not too bad. For he settled further into his sofa and opened the YouTube application on his phone and typed in Yuuri’s name, tapping the auto-complete form before he waited for the results to load for his keen eyes.

“No one has to know,” he mumbled, amused at his own absurdity, scrubbing Makkachin behind the ears with his free hand. Indeed, this was something that would be best kept a secret between a man, his dog, and the walls of his apartment.

\--

“Stay on your fucking side of the rink _,_  Nikiforov,” Yuri spat out the words viciously, making a lazy loop around the other as he shook out his arms. He still didn’t have choreography for his free program, with Lilia doing it. He was annoyed, and having Viktor wandering into his ice-space time and time again with jumps and step sequences wasn'thelping the situation.

“Sorry, Yuri!” Viktor chimed, although the dreamlike quality to his voice indicated to Yuri that he wasn’t sorry at all, nor was he paying much attention to Yuri’s protest of having his space taken over. Great. The blonde tried to follow Viktor’s gaze to something tangible, trying to figure out why the hellhe was so dead-set on being on this side of the rink when-

“Oh,  _Christ_ , you have to be kidding me,” Yuri barked in a low growl, keeping his voice surprisingly quiet as he glided over to where Viktor was pretending to practice some step-sequence. It wasn’t anything relevant. Yuri had seen him skate it years ago, and he definitely wasn’t reusing it this year. “Get on your own side. You’re not getting in my way just so you can see the dancer asshole,” he insisted, skating behind Viktor and giving him a shove on the lower-back to try and send him off. Instead, Viktor merely whined and looped back, craning his neck.

From this end of the rink, decidedly Yuri’s end, you could peek into the area where Lilia sat with a pen and paper, her expression drawn in focus. Occasionally, she had been looking up to study Yuri before ultimately turning back to what she was working on. At her side was the danseur, Yuuri. Yuri grit his teeth and looked down to the far end of the skating rink where Yakov was working with some younger students, from the junior division. It wasn’t worth it to drag Yakov into it. Yet, anyway.

“Go do your own work. He isn’t looking at you anyway, and you just look desperate. It's embarrassing to watch,” Yuri snapped, skating after the other intending to give him another careful shove. There really wasn’t any room for eitherof them to get hurt. Yuri wasn’t making his senior debut to win gold and have people say it was only because Nikiforov had been out injured. And, he wasn’t about to miss his own debut because of an injury over Viktor. It wasn’t worth it, but he was still intent on shoving the other all the way back to his end of the rink. However, it seemed that the twenty-seven-year-old had other plans as he slipped away from Yuri again.

“Such accusations! I’m running out of room!” Viktor protested over his shoulder, executing a graceful, but lazy, scratch spin. Yuri grunted in annoyance and rolled his shoulders.

“Too bad. Figure out how to do your program without getting in everyone else’s way, or wait until I’m done. This is my ice time, anyway.”

Viktor let out another laugh as he slid out of the spin. Yuri had a point - he wasn’t supposed to be on the ice for another half hour at least, but he hadn’t been able to resist coming a little earlier than normal today. He was here for hours upon hours, between various forms of training and meetings as well. Viktor's life was, more or less, contained in this sports complex. But the extra time was still nice to warm up slowly _and_ get to see Yuuri for a little while. Get it out of his system before he had to crack down on his own practicing.

He had hoped to be able to talk to him, but when he had entered he was deep in conversation with Lilia, and there was only so much awkward stalling you could do on the benches before it got suspicious.

“Trade ends of the rink with me,” Viktor offered, skating back over to where Yuri was and giving him a nudge.

“How thick is your skull? If I go to the opposite end of the rink, Lilia is going to follow, and so is the assistant you're pining for.”

Ah. Well. That was true.

“Why don’t I help you then? With your short program!” Viktor suggested instead, bouncing back from his slight lapse rather quickly. Yuri’s brow seemed to knit in consideration as he studied Viktor slowly. Viktor could all but see the gears turning in his head before the younger let out a hrash scoff.

“Fine, whatever,” he grumbled, “Don’t start acting like you’re a damn coach, though. We both know you’d be shit at it. I’m just doing this so you’ll shut up,” Yuri stressed, taking his phone out of his pocket. He scrolled for a moment before adjusting the volume of the music he was listening to. “You can help by standing over by the boards andwatching.”

“But I could offer insight – I choreographed it, after all!” Viktor exclaimed loudly, voice carrying a little more than he intended though that was normal in the open space of the rink. Yuri glowered, but Viktor merely frowned and glided forward. “Come on, let me help you. I want you to have the best debut you can!” he insisted. If the rough shove to his stomach was anything to go by, Yuri wasn’t exactly sold on the idea of some one-on-one insight.

“Fuck off, you’re not actually doing this to help. Now stop fucking harassing me to try and look cool,” Yuri retorted harshly, jerking his chin towards the boards. “Go stand over there, out of my way, and keep your mouth shut unless you actually have something useful to say about my program.” Viktor followed the direction and raised a brow. It was obviously to get him out of Yuri’s way, but it made Viktor smile just a touch that Yuri was telling him to stand in the direction of Yuuri rather than still trying to banish him to the other side.

Even if his current wingman was a reluctant fifteen-year-old, Viktor was happy to have him.

“Okay,” Viktor agreed, reaching out to muss the smaller skater’s hair before he made haste for the aforementioned position against the plastic walls of the skating rink. He could feel the hot glare on him as he moved back and out Yuri’s way, but he couldn’t really get the big grin off of his face. He couldn’t see Yuuri from here unless he stole glances out of his peripheral vision. But Viktor supposed that he could do that - which was probably what Yuri had wanted anyway so Viktor didn’t try to ‘play coach’.

Viktor thought he would make a good coach.

Yuri started skating the familiar program and Viktor leaned against the boards to watch. It was a strong piece in his eyes. He hadn’t been sure if Yuri would exactly capture it the way he had thought, but Viktor knew that it wasn’t what he wanted to skate this season even if it had been part of his original plan. It suited Yuri better than he had imagined. Even if the emotion didn’t seem to be quite behind it yet… He thought that would certainly come with time, once the younger man had a chance to really think about what it meant. Agape was a big concept – something that an angsty fifteen-year-old boy might not have pondered at this point. Viktor had faith in Yuri.

But he wasn’t going to go easy on him.

“Come on, Yuri! You look so angry while you’re skating,” Viktor called from where he had been resting against the boards. He glided over to the other as Yuri came to a screeching stop, the blades of his skates digging hard into the ice. Viktor grimaced inwardly but continued moving closer. “Your technical score is something you don’t have to worry about but you’re not going to do well at all if you’re in a completely different mood than what you’re trying to sell.”

“I’m  _practicing_ ,” Yuri replied quickly. The blonde’s hip popped to the side and his hand found a resting spot there. Viktor let out a sigh.

“Yes, exactly. So practice it how you would do in competition and stop looking like unconditional love makes you want to strangle someone. Just loosen up a bit, okay?” Viktor prompted, patting the other on the shoulder.

“ _Loosen_ \- hell, Nikiforov. If you’re so sure on what ‘agape’ is supposed to fucking look like, why don’t you give us a demonstration,” Yuri snapped. It surprised Viktor, more that he would prompt him to skate than anything else. Yuri was possessive over the program now, and after their first few weeks of training with it, he had insisted Viktor needn’t skate it anymore. Yuri was already skating towards the exit, shoving his blade guards on, and walking over to his bag to retrieve water.

“Alright then,” Viktor said to himself with a soft sigh. He did a few slow laps around half of the rink before gliding to the centre. Viktor faced away from Yuri and took a few slow breaths. He ran through the choreography in his head. He settled into the mind frame.

He began to skate.

Viktor wasn’t sure he would ever understand people who had their head full of irrelevant information when they were skating a program. Maybe if it was something easy, but not if it was at their level. For him, programs had always been a genuine reprieve from anything else besides the relevant information. Inspiration. The story. The feeling of the skate. The balance. Anything that wasn’t relevant, or that was an issue off the ice, seemed to melt away for him.

For a long time, he had just felt as though he went on auto-pilot, and didn’t think about anything at all. That would have been an issue; Viktor never wanted to look like a robot while he skated. He and Yakov had put too much time and energy to craft Viktor's style to something perfected. It could never be anything but enjoyable to watch at this rate., and a crucial part of that was the aspect of performance. Sometimes Viktor would just make notes of the technical aspects if he truly wasn’t inspired, though that tended not to happen when you choreographed your own programs. It was an advantage he had, at least.

But sometimes, you could just fake it until you entirely convinced yourself emotions were deeply rooted rather than a performance. That seemed to be true more and more frequently as Viktor's career stretched on.

\--

> **katsuki-yuuri:** No I’m not?????
> 
> **katsuki-yuuri:**  Kidding??
> 
> **katsuki-yuuri:**  Why would I be?? (ﾟヘﾟ)
> 
> **katsuki-yuuri:**  I’m actually sitting here in the rink watching Viktor Nikiforov practice with Yuri
> 
> **nishigoriyuuko:**  Yuuri I’m DYING why are you kILLING me like this
> 
> **nishigoriyuuko:**  I can’t believe
> 
> **nishigoriyuuko:**  I’m just
> 
> **nishigoriyuuko:**  How did your life end up THIS cool you know?? (´∀`)
> 
> **nishigoriyuuko:**  And you’re not even INTO figure skating!! It’s my thing!!
> 
> **katsuki-yuuri:** I watched it with you for years I’m an honorary fan at least
> 
> **nishigoriyuuko** : Honorary fans don’t deserve to be watching Viktor practice in the flesh in his home rink
> 
> **nishigoriyuuko:**  Okay well maybe
> 
> **katsuki-yuuri:** It’s for work sort of!!!
> 
> **nishigoriyuuko:**  Aaaah I’m still so jealous but I gotta go
> 
> **nishigoriyuuko:**  Take pictures or something
> 
> **nishigoriyuuko:**  Please
> 
> **nishigoriyuuko:**  I’ll give you my first born
> 
> **katsuki-yuuri:**  That’s called babysitting one of three (^ц^ )
> 
> **nishigoriyuuko:**  Hahahhhah talk later. Bye! ♥（ﾉ´∀`）

Yuuri let out a laugh and looked up from his phone, back to the ice. It really was impressive.

Yuuri had never stepped foot on ice in his life, never learned properly. Yuuko had been his best (really,  _only)_ friend throughout the portion his life spent in Japan, and she was really quite good at it, taking figure skating lessons at the local rink she eventually came to work at. They had been close, and so when she had been obsessed with figure skating, Yuuri had watched it with her for hours on end without hesitation. As a dancer, he could appreciate the creativity behind the programs if nothing else. It made Yuuko happy to have someone to watch the videos with. At the time, Yuuri had been happy just to make her happy in his odd state of platonic adoration melding with some sort of adolescent puppy-love.

Such notions had been abandoned long ago, though.

Watching videos huddled around her small laptop was really nothing like sitting here and watching it unfold, though. While the technical aspects were lost on him, Yuuri admired the creativity and the strength behind it. He could see where ballet training came into use too, and where it influenced the original choreography. He could also see where adaptations could be made to the form, to tweak it and add to the flow, or make it just slightly more comfortable. To convey the message a little more easily.

That wasn’t really his job, however. He imagined Lilia was seeing the same places, making notes for correction once she began working with Yuri for off-ice training, private ballet sessions. Yuuri would stay quiet unless the former prima asked for his opinion. It seemed easier that way.

His sights turned back to Viktor, still skating the program Yuri had been working through earlier. There was a certain type of grace Viktor had when he skated that Yuri didn’t – not to say that Yuri wasn'tgraceful. Yuuri knew he was far from qualified to say who was a good skater and who wasn’t. But Viktor had the sort of flow the choreography seemed to demand. As he watched he knew that Viktor had choreographed the program with something in mind, a feeling or thought, but Yuuri couldn't quite decipher it. Couldn't see it rooted in Viktor's movements. It was in his expression, portrayed almost shallowly in his movements. Yuuri could tell it didn't reach the skaters core-

It was still beautiful to watch, despite what Yuuri had picked up upon. Before he knew it, he was leaning forward with his arms braced on his knees, studying the way Viktor moved. It was the sort of thing you really didn’t want to look away from. A glance at the younger skater showed that, too, Yuri entirely engrossed as he watched his program unfold The tension in Yuri’s shoulders had gone down from when he had angrily stomped off, and he didn’t have a seemingly vice-like grip on his water anymore. Yuuri could still vaguely hear the loud rock music coming from Yuri’s headphones which were still in his ears.

That would drive Lilia nuts, he imagined.

Viktor came to a graceful end of the program, his arms and hands stretching upward and his back curved delicately. It was really a beautiful performance. Yuuri found himself wondering what it would look like once it was put to music and polished, and how it would vary when Yuri skated it; if there was deep, genuine emotion bolstered behind it. It would be exciting to get to be part of the creative process - or at least on the border of it, as he helped Lilia help Yuri. Even if he felt a tinge of guilt for being able to enjoy this over Yuuko, who had spent years admiring these skaters, Yuuri was excited too. His enthusiasm was just more oriented towards the creative atmosphere.

“Yuuri, straighten yourself. You’ll ruin your back slouched like that.” There was a brief, mumbled apology before he sat up straight again, as per Lilia’s command. His gaze stayed on Viktor, however, absorbed in his thoughts, on what the months to come might hold for him.

Being here would be a good balance, he hoped, to keep him from fretting over his own debut that was only a few months away as a principal dancer. Helping Yuri prepare for his senior division debut would hopefully do him good. Helping someone else would surely keep him well rounded in regards to not panicking and ruining everything.

At least, he would keep telling himself that. Yuuri had been with a few companies but none as prestigious and well-known as the Bolshoi. It was an honour, and one that he didn’t want to take lightly at all _._ He would be mortified if he somehow let his nerves get the best of him and he ruined the chance he had been given by Lilia and the rest of the company.

He caught Viktor’s eye for a moment, having not really realized that he had spaced out with his gaze still on the other man. The Russian flashed him a charming smile, the same he had been on the receiving end of the first day, when Viktor had first introduced himself. Yuuri returned the expression with a bright smile of his own, unable to help himself as he regarded the talented skater. Viktor gave a shallow, almost playful, bow to Yuuri, before dropping his blue gaze elsewhere. It wasn't long before Viktor was absorbed in conversation with Yuri once more about the ins and outs of the program, and the moment, whatever it had been, had passed.

All Yuuri knew was that the flush on Viktor’s cheeks was maddeningly charming. Was he really that tired from running through the program that he was red in the face?

\--

“You skate really beautifully.”

The compliment came from behind Viktor as he vacated the ice. After working through a few things with Yuri, he had decided that it was only fair he let the younger skater practice on his own without his hovering. He didn’t want to suffocate him, nor did he want to interfere with his ability to prepare properly. There was plenty of time for him to spend working on his own program later. He wanted to save his energy for the hours of practice to come.

Besides, after he had been on the receiving end of Yuuri Katsuki’s smile, he wasn’t really sure his knees were strong enough to keep going for a while.

He turned, easily recognizing that it was the same danseur’s voice, and he felt heat creeping onto his features all over again. It was foolish; Viktor was a man of twenty-seven, a highly sought after bachelor, known round around for his skill and persona, and confidence to boot. It wasn’t fair in the least that he could be reduced to a flushed school girl by the handsome, talented, funny, charming…

What was his point, again?

“Ah! Thank you, Yuuri,” Viktor replied with an easy smile, turning towards the other entirely as he replied. He opted to sit down on the bench nearby rather than continue back towards the locker room on his skates and guards like he planned. He would rather have a moment to speak with Yuuri. He started to unlace the boots of his skates.

“I didn’t really have any doubts that you would be good, obviously,” Yuuri continued, tone rather soft though there was some sort of edge to it. Viktor couldn’t seem to place it entirely-

“Even after your little fall yesterday.”

 _Teasing_ _._ It was definitely a teasing edge and Viktor...

Viktor had never felt so happy to be taunted by someone.

He looked up from where his gaze had been fixed on the laces of his skates. Instead, his gaze was directed to Yuuri, unable to bite back his grin at the smile that adorned the man’s lips. How did he even reply to that? It seemed a little too forward to tell him that he had been taken aback by how beautiful he was, and so he had straight up  _fallen down_ at the sight of him. Even if ice was a factor, it was a lame excuse for the likes of Viktor Nikiforov. He could move better on the ice than land half the time, which was becoming more and more true the longer he was around Yuuri Katsuki.

“Ah, unfortunate, wasn’t it? Twisted the wrong way, feet kept going,” Viktor replied with a laugh, turning a bright smile to the other before he glanced back down to his skates, hoping to not make a mess of his laces. If he could make it through another interaction with Yuuri Katsuki without making a fool of himself, he would feel content. “What was Lilia working on?” he inquired curiously, glancing back at Yuuri, who had taken to leaning delicately against the barrier of the rink. He looked graceful, even in the simple movement. A ballet star through and through.

“Just taking notes on Yuri, I think, starting to prepare for his free program. She’s choreographed for skaters before, apparently. I didn’t know that.”

“Yeah, she did one or two for a few skaters that are still kicking around here,” Viktor said, glancing around as though they should materialize at the mention. That, however, wasn’t how the universe worked. He dropped his eyes back down to the boot of his skates, moving onto the next once he had loosened the laces of the other. “She’s good at it. I mean, not that it’s surprising. She and Yakov make a hell of a team even if it’s a little odd with- everything.”

“I think it’s nice,” Yuuri replied thoughtfully, casting his eyes in the direction of where Lilia, Yakov, and Yuri were speaking. He likely should be over there too, Yuuri realized, but a moment’s reprieve surely wouldn’t do too much damage. “I guess I haven’t really been around them both long enough to judge though. Maybe I should take your word on it,” he continued with a laugh.

 _Ah_ _._ That laugh. Viktor would gladly listen to it all day.

He needed to shake himself out of this infatuated stupor.

“We’ll see. Last time they were together it was awkward, but it’s been longer now since the divorce and all. I doubt Yakov will be as…  _Eh_ …" Viktor trailed, and it seemed to satisfy Yuuri as an answer, as he nodded in understanding. “I imagine that they’ll have a hard enough time keeping Yuri in line to worry about arguing between the two of them much. They’ll just keep it professional, hopefully.”

“Mmh,” Yuuri hummed softly, looking back to Viktor. “Either way- ...I’ll let you get to your break. I just wanted to let you know that you looked good out there.”

Viktor pouted, looking up at Yuuri. “ _Just_ out there?” he prompted. It was a satisfying thing indeed to watch colour rush to the Japanese man’s face.

“No! I mean- you look very nice either way but- I  _meant_ you have a lot of talent,” Yuuri stammered, words coming out a little faster than he surely wanted them to. A little jumbled, though Viktor understood well enough; Yuuri's English was still much clearer than his own, after the years spent the danseur had spent in America. Viktor bit back that thought from being released into the air. He would rather not reveal on their second meeting the source of this knowledge, that he had spent a long time looking Yuuri up on the internet just a few evenings ago.

“I’m just teasing you. Thank you, Yuuri. That’s truly high praise,” Viktor said, sliding off his skates and setting them on the bench as he stood up, sock-footed now seeing as his shoes were in the locker room – his original destination. He sort of regretted not grabbing them now given how quickly his feet were growing colder but it wasn’t a great pain to deal with. Worth the price. “I was going to lunch if you’d like to come with me,” he offered casually, figuring that it was only polite.

 _And_ maybe because he desperately hoped the other would say yes to an invitation to spend more time together. He would like to get to know Yuuri further than what Google had to offer.

“Oh, um. That’d be-“

“Yuuri!”

“ _Nice_ ,"Yuuri mumbled the last with a little sigh as Lilia’s voice carried across the rink from where the three stood talking. Viktor looked over at the trio, noting that Yuri had started to take his skates off. Done on the ice for now. Surely Lilia had plans that required Yuuri’s presence, then.

“Aww. No such luck for me today, hm?” Viktor lamented playfully, shaking his head. “I won’t keep you. Some other time, though, okay? I’ll steal you away from Lilia and take the blame,” he teased, stooping down to pick up his skates from the bench so he could leave. It would be better to tear himself away before he had the impulse to yell at Lilia that Yuuri was busy. Likely not good for making an impression on Yuuri.

Or good for his health, in terms of Lilia. And Yuri. And Yakov.

All around, a better plan to concede to the cruel fate of the universe today, Viktor supposed.

“Of course. I imagine there will be plenty of time for it, between now and competition...” Yuuri said with a polite smile and nod. Viktor stood there for a moment studying him before he smiled back, and gave the other a wink.

“I’ll see you soon, Yuuri,” he said fondly. He gave a little wave with his free hand and started to walk back towards the locker room. There was a spring to his step despite that vague ache in his toes from the cold floor. A brief glance backward to Yuuri was the only permission the world needed to punish him further, it seemed. He banged his knee into one of the railings that lined the stairs near the entrance to the locker room. Not hard, but enough to make him mumble a curse word, and feel the embarrassment of the stumble more than anything.

Okay, that was dumb. He should watch where he was going but-

Of course, Yuuri had also glanced back at the sound of his knee making contact with the metal railing, the dull sound ringing out. Viktor gave an awkward little smile over his shoulder before making a hasty retreat. When he was back in the locker room he stored his skates for after lunch and put on his shoes.

Viktor knew that he was suave _,_ dammit. With a career that literally was performing on ice, the best in the men's competitive world, he shouldn't be behaving like this _._ He was at the top in his field. No one disputed that. Yet all it seemed to take to reduce him to a clumsy, uncoordinated, and awkward fool off of the ice was a handsome man like Yuuri Katsuki, who gave him the time of day.

Maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing. Hopefully, Yuuri found it charming.Though he did have to stop banging into things. Another seduction technique would, decidedly, suit him better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> have you ever seen that video of yuzuru hanyu on ice doing beautiful jumps and choreography and then they cut to him off ice and he just straight up falls? that's viktor.
> 
> i've been trying to figure out what update schedule will work best for this fic. i'm thinking either saturdays or wednesdays. i originally wanted to do updates twice a week but i'm thinking that's too much for me to keep up with. do people have a preference between wednesday (in yoi fashion of course) or saturday? let me know!
> 
> until next time, you can find me over on [my tumblr!](http://aphhun.tumblr.com)
> 
> 2017-03-08 > revised for continuity!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we have lunch and slang lessons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the slightly longer than usual wait on this chapter! i wanted to settle into updating on wednesdays, which will hopefully be our new schedule! hopefully the length makes up for the wait.
> 
> beta'd by the wonderful [snow_falls](http://archivofourown.com/users/snow_falls). thank you for being so diligent so my whim of a wednesday update was possible, you're the best (´꒳`∗)

“So you obviously really like it then? In Russia?”

“Oh yeah. I mean, it’s different, but it’s nice. I think I needed the change of pace.”

“Good. Good, Yuuri. I’m really glad! I just wish I could come up in November to see your debut…”

“Yeah, me too,” Yuuri said, his phone propped up against his thigh, speaker pointing upward as he moved through some floor stretches slowly. In America, it was an ungodly hour and Yuuri had been baffled when Phichit had sent him a text to see if they could call. In the same breath though, Yuuri had long become acquainted with his former roomates night owl habits; they were both like that, which made an early rise difficult for Yuuri. In Russia, it was early - just past seven o’clock last time hehad checked. He wasn’t a morning person, but this was the average start to his day more often than not. Awake early, and after giving himself some time to lounge around in bed and move through a slow morning routine, he departed for the chill of the rink. It was different than his life had been in America with Phichit for certain, but not necessarily bad. Getting to work with ice skaters was new and exciting.

His training for ballet was, of course, still his main concern. Yuuri was elated to be here with Lilia as her assistant, seeing as it was truly quite an experience. Yuuri didn’t take that for granted, the privilege it was to be working so closely with her and seeing her creative process. But, despite all of that, he also had his sights fixed on his November debut. That meant training at odd hours, refining his technique on his own time. He now had an absurd training schedule, which had manifested from trying to compensate a figure skater’s training too.

Seeing as time was of the essence, getting a proper studio was somewhat out of the question. It would take too much time to commute back and forth when Lilia was working with Yuri on the ice, and then immediately needed Yuuri to be ready to work. There was a large, proper studio in the sports complex, and although it wasn’t ideal, it suited their purposes for the most part.

Except for when it was overrun by other people. Yuuri was used to sharing space with a lotof people – that was merely a fact you had to accept early on in professional dance. Sometimes, you would find yourself in a tight fit, with too many people in one studio. Lilia, however, wasn’t entirely content with him being forced to sacrifice movement and space because of Yakov’s off-ice training taking up the studio space so often.

That was undoubtedly how Yuuri found himself tucked into this tiny, almost quaint, has-been office morning after morning. There had been an attempt to change it into something of a private studio for him, and he appreciated the effort. There was a bar hastily installed, and mirrors against the wall in the small former office. Large windows illuminated the room in the mornings and it was mostly tranquil. It was somewhere he could quietly slip off to practice and focus without the bustle of the other rooms.

“And you’re schmoozing with some of the best – well,  _the_ best _,_  in figure skating too!” Phichit’s voice cut back in after a moment and Yuuri near groaned as his attention snapped back to the call. He knew inevitably what was going to be coming from his best friend’s train of thought there and he wanted to shut it down pre-emptively, but he needed some sort of strategy. Phichit could work any angle.

“Not schmoozing. Just working around- with,” Yuuri replied, fingers wrapping around the balls of his feet as he pulled himself deeper into the stretch, closing his eyes. “Sort of inevitable when you’re choreographing a program,” he rationalized, even though he had a feeling that was a minor detail to Phichit.

“Uh-huh, but you’re not choreographing programs for all of them,” he chimed, “So there must be schmoozing going on with Viktor.”

Ah, there it was.

Okay. So maybe Yuuri had mentioned once that the man was cute. Phichit hadn’t let it go since.

“He choreographed Yuri’s other program,” Yuuri said calmly. He could all but feel Phichit vibrating on the other end of the call.

“Oh come on,” his friend drawled, and if Yuuri hadn’t spent nearly five years living with Phichit it might have been annoying. He was immune to it at this point, though, he was quite sure. “You even said that you thought he was attractive, and he sounds like a really great guy,” Phichit continued.

“He is. And we’re just acquaintances. Two people getting to know each other. No ulterior motives,” Yuuri concluded. There was some sort of awful groaning noise on the other end of the line – Yuuri pitied whatever public space Phichit was in, with the theatrics at hand.

“You’re so stubborn!” Phichit chided, a laugh pouring over the phone’s speaker. “You’re  _allowed_ to be interested in people, Yuuri-“

“ _Phichit_ _._  It's nothing, really. He’s entirely out of my league. Like, different world sort of level," Yuuri’s voice was firm as he spoke, shaking his head.

“Okay so, this is coming from Yuuri Katsuki I’m taking that with a grain of salt since you have no idea what league you’re even  _in_ ,” Phichit deadpanned and Yuuri groaned. Could he feign the connection breaking up? No, surely not. He knew Phichit would just lecture over text, then. “Seriously, you should give it some thought! It wouldn’t be the end of the world for you to put yourself out there! All you do is work, work, work. When’s the last time you went on a date just for the hell of it? The last time you had a boyfriend?”

That, indeed, was a valid point. Likely not for a year or two, which wasn’t an incredibly long stretch in Yuuri’s mind. He wasn’t one to jump into relationships incredibly quickly; he would rather have some sort of certainty. For the longest time, his claim had remained that he was too busy. It was sort of true. Phichit refused to acknowledge that as a reason, though.

“I’m really not looking for a relationsh-“

“Yuuri!”

That wasn’t Phichit’s voice, and Yuuri startled at the new tone. He released the stretch a little faster than he ought to, twisting around by the torso to look at Viktor, who stood in the doorway of the impromptu studio. Yuuri felt his blood run a little cold at the situation at hand – how much of that had Viktor heard and how the hell was he going to explain whatever he had managed to overhear?

First things first, though, he scrambled to take Phichit off speakerphone, to mute the questions of  _‘what happened? Are you okay? Who is it? Is it_ ** _him_ _?’_** from Viktor’s ears. He said a short and fast goodbye, and despite the long whine that Phichit let out, Yuuri ended the call and tried to still his breathing.

“Sorry – I didn’t mean to scare you,” Viktor laughed quietly, rubbing the back of his neck. It was much earlier than he usually arrived. Typically he came to the rink around nine, warmed up by assisting Yuri and then got settled into his proper training regimen for the remainder of the day. But today he had a few other things to take care of. One of them was this.

“You didn’t scare me,” Yuuri replied with a little awkward laugh, getting up to his feet and stowing his phone in the waist of his sweatpants for the time being, shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbow. He knew that he probably looked downright lazy, but at this hour, for training in a room no one else came into, it shouldn’t really mean much.

And it hadn’t, until Yuuri was looking at actual human perfection in the form of Viktor Nikiforov who apparently could make sweatpants and a sweatshirt look as nice as a bespoke suit. There was something cruel and unfair about that, Yuuri had concluded such over the last few weeks of training in St Petersburg. He had since come to accept that Viktor was the sort of person who looked great in  everything. Day in and day out, week after week, he had watched Viktor flutter between training clothes and his street clothes. The latter of which only made an appearance when Yuuri caught sight of Viktor before he left for the evenings, or if the skater came in on his rest days to ‘help’.

He looked good in everything, at all times. Yuuri wondered if it was as effortless as it looked, but mornings like this seemed to just affirm that it must be.

“Okay,” Viktor accepted with a laugh, and Yuuri knew that he didn’t buy it. Not with how he had scrambled. They stood together in silence for a moment, Viktor hovering by the doorway as if he needed permission to enter. The entirety of the complex seemed to bow at his feet, so Yuuri didn’t know why he seemed reluctant to sashay his way into this room like he did everywhere else. “I ah, didn’t hear your conversation – if that’s what you were worried about,” Viktor offered up, and Yuuri felt some of his stress melt away.

“No?” He asked, hoping he didn’t look as relieved as he felt. That would not be in his best interest, he didn’t want Viktor to feel as though he was trying to conceal something from him.

“No,” Viktor affirmed, his fingers dusting against the white headphone cords that poked out from the collar of his sweatshirt, and lazily dangled down toward his chest. Music still played faintly through them, and Yuuri couldn’t hear it well enough to discern what it was, but it was enough assurance to know that Viktor hadn’t heard anything besides perhaps the tail end.

“Right- um, it wasn’t really important anyway. Just a friend,” Yuuri supplied, shifting his weight back and forth, leg to leg, feeling a little antsy. Viktor’s presence was a relaxing one but it was still a little intimidating at times.

“Anyway, I didn’t want to interrupt you for too long since I know you’re busy,” Viktor said with a nod. Yuuri had to assume that maybe Viktor took the nervous energy coming off of him in waves as just a desire to be left alone to finish warming up. It couldn’t be further from the truth. “But I wanted to ask – lunch today?”

“Sorry?” Yuuri asked with a surprised, owlish blink.

“Do you want to get lunch together? We never had a chance since I first asked you.”

Yuuri’s expression faltered slightly. “I’d really like to but I don’t think I’m going to get a lunch break until two today,” he said, trying not to show his disappointment. He would practice here until Lilia and Yuri arrived, and then he would work with Yuri on building his flexibility and movement until noon. Then if he was lucky there might be time to get a granola bar in before Lilia started to run over the choreography ideas with him in the studio. Then they would work with Yuri again…

“I can wait,” Viktor replied without missing a beat, the certainty in his tone making Yuuri’s head near spin. It was a simple offer, but there was just something about how sure he seemed.

“That’s a long day,” Yuuri said with a frown, already shaking his head. “I don’t- it’s not really fair to you, to have to just wait around for me. Besides, I’m not really sure how long I’ll even have for my break so it might only be like fifteen minutes or something-“

“Yuuri,” Viktor cut in, his voice firm yet gentle as he took a seemingly tentative step inside of the room. “I don’t mind waiting. And I don’t mind if it’s short, either. We can run around the corner and grab a coffee and a sandwich and eat it on the walk back if that’s what it comes down to. I just thought it’d be nice to spend a little time together. You’re at the rink so often yet I feel like I know nothing about you.” The longer Viktor rambled on the more concerned Yuuri was that the other would be able to hear his heart hammering against his ribcage. Grounded. He needed to stay grounded.

“You’re not going to take ‘no’ for an answer on this, are you?” Yuuri asked, his lips melding into an easy smile, arms wrapped around himself. Viktor’s smile was electric.

“No. Not unless you  _really_ hate the idea of spending more time with me than the absolute bare minimum demands,” the Russian reasoned, and Yuuri found himself offering up a little laugh and shake of his head in reply.

“Okay. Then we’ll get lunch.”

“Great, come and find me when Lilia releases you for a while, alright? I’ll be around the usual places you can find me.”

“I’ll just text you,” Yuuri told him, and the other seemed to light up even more at that prospect. Yuuri wondered if Viktor had remembered that they still had each other’s numbers. There had been no need to text each other, despite the quiet urges Yuuri did get to do so, but… It hadn’t felt right yet. Something pinned him back from doing it. Fear of annoying Viktor, he was sure. Interrupting him if he was busy. Being that annoying, foreign acquaintance who had no idea how Russia worked yet.

“Perfect,” Viktor said fondly, his smile full and warm. It gave Yuuri a pleasant sense of accomplishment to be on the receiving end of it. “Bye for now then, Yuuri.” With a single wave, the Russian was on his way as suddenly as he had come. Yuuri found himself sinking back down onto the floor with a foolish grin, elation full on his face.

He had only managed to work through a few of his stretches before his phone dinged in his pocket, he leaned over it. A few messages from Phichit had been sitting from when he had ended the call. His ringer had been quiet enough thankfully that it hadn’t interrupted his conversation with Viktor, since the messages alone were enough to bring the flush of embarrassment onto his cheeks.

> **[phichitchu]:**  are you kidding me rightnow how oculd you haNG UP ON ME
> 
> **[phichitchu]:**  that was HIM right?? Like HIM HIM?
> 
> **[phichitchu]:**  you BEST KNOW that you’re calling me again later with the details!!!!
> 
> **[phichitchu]:**  also, ily and i’m proud your crush is cute wtf i’m on his instagram

The most recent message, however, made affection settle in his chest.

> **[Viktor Nikiforov]:**  Just making sure you still have my number Yuuri! Excited for lunch with you, see you later! 

The man was too much

\--

Lunch came sooner than Yuuri had been anticipating, for which he was thankful. Lilia had wanted some time to work through her plans for afternoon training, Yuri seemed to be a little grouchier than usual after this morning’s training, and on all fronts, it had seemed safest to take lunch sooner rather than later. Yuuri sent a quick text to Viktor, who was nowhere to be seen on the ice when he had peeked out to try and find him. Only moments after he had sent it, though, the platinum-haired man came out of the short hallway to the locker rooms with a big smile on his features.

He was dressed differently than earlier, sweatpants and sweatshirt swapped out for nicer pants that surely had to be tailored to Viktor precisely. Peeking out from under his coat was some sort of sweater, but nicer, higher quality knit than what he had been in this morning. Yuuri’s throat felt a little dry – he wasn’t necessarily sure if it was because Viktor looked so good, or if it was because he felt so horrendously under-dressed in comparison.

“Yuuri! Ready?” Viktor called out, which didn’t leave much time for Yuuri to dwell on what had snatched all of the life from his throat. Instead, he got to his feet, slid his phone into the pocket of his joggers, and made his way down the few short steps of the bleachers. Diligently, he tried to ignore the sets of eyes around the rink that had turned to them when Viktor called out for him, well aware that among them was a hard gaze from Yuri, who sat on the bleachers a few rows back from where Yuuri had been only moments ago.

“Yeah. I don’t have a change of clothes. I wasn’t expecting to have a lot of time,” Yuuri apologized with a faint smile as he joined Viktor, falling into step as they started out of the rink.

“Don’t worry about it, you look great,” Viktor told him quickly, his hands sliding into the pockets of his coat. He stopped for just a moment so Yuuri could retrieve his wallet, and Viktor bit his tongue. He didn’t plan on letting Yuuri pay, but that might be easier to deal with when the time came. There was a smile on his lips as they started out of the athletics complex together, relieved that his ambition to get lunch was finally _,_   _finally_ being fulfilled after nearly a month after he first asked.

“There’s a nice Italian place just around the corner from here,” Viktor said, looking over at Yuuri as they started to walk, “They sell lots of different things if you don't like Italian too, and you’ll love the view.” His rambling continued for a moment, chattering about what he liked from the restaurant before they arrived. The walk was, indeed, much shorter than Yuuri had been anticipating, though it didn’t surprise him in the least he had never stumbled across the restaurant. He definitely wasn’t adventurous in St Petersburg, so far. He had felt a little braver in Moscow somehow. St Petersburg was still new, having only been here a few weeks.

“We’ll want to go upstairs,” Viktor said as he guided Yuuri in, holding the door and flashing him a smile. Time spent in the lift was quick, and Yuuri couldn’t help but be a little stunned as they reached the top floor.

Glass panels lined the walls in their entirety, overlooking the water and scenery that composed the city. It was charming, and undoubtedly cozy with warm-toned wood tables, somehow fitting nicely with the modern glass panelling. He hardly registered Viktor chattering with one of the staff members as they came inside, letting himself be pulled along by the Russian to their table.

“Wow,” Yuuri said finally, once the waiter had left them with menus and water. There were plush cushions on their seats, resembling something more of a lounge sofa than a table chair. The wall was pure glass, lined with green plants and overlooking the water. The view was just… “I can’t believe I didn’t manage to find this place already,” he continued, looking across the table to Viktor.

“It’s really nice, right? Convenient too, since it’s so close to  _Yubelinyvy_ _,_ ” the Russian offered in reply, seeming reluctant to turn his gaze to his menu. Now that they finally had the chance to get lunch together, it almost felt like wasting time to let himself be occupied with the food options at hand. Even if that was the point of being here, his attention was still unwaveringly on Yuuri, Viktor’s chest felt light at the prospect of this potentially becoming something regular.

He’d like to form habits with Yuuri.

“What do you suggest, then? I mean, you know the staff, so you must know the menu too,” Yuuri smiled, looking at Viktor rather than the options now. He could make sense of Russian enough to know what they were offering, but some of the specifics felt a little iffy for him. He didn’t want to ask if they had English, though – Yuuri felt that he should be able to manage, at this rate. At the prompt, Viktor paused, lips pursed in thought.

“All of the soups are good- and the pasta, too. They’re light enough you won’t feel poorly when you need to dance later on,” Viktor supplied thoughtfully, brows knitting. From the expression on his face, Yuuri would have thought that he had asked Viktor to pick a name for his first-born, or something akin to that. There was focus there, as though there was something more than the quality of lunch riding on his suggestions. “And the lemonade, you have to try that too. It’s all made here; the ginger is my favourite,” Viktor rambled still, rattling off options, and Yuuri had to give himself an internal shake to not openly fawn over the man across from him.

It was just two acquaintances getting lunch together – almost coworkers, sort of. In a strange way. Nothing out of the ordinary about coworkers eating together. Nothing for him to get worked up over. Yuuri repeated such a mantra in his head.

In the end, he mimicked Viktor’s order, considering himself lucky that Viktor navigated the process of ordering for him. Yuuri’s Russian was far from polished, his accent laughable; it was comforting to have some help. Idle chatter passed between them about Yuri’s training earlier on in the day, notes and thoughts bouncing around until their food was set before them. Although Yuuri knew that Lilia would kill him for ordering pasta, Yuuri decided that the grilled vegetables as a side would counterbalance things enough that maybe it could have received her blessing.

“So you actually live in Moscow, right?” Viktor asked once their waiter had left them again, and Yuuri nodded, pushing his food around his plate as though to assess it.

“Yes. Coming here was actually a little unexpected,” he replied with a laugh, peeking up at Viktor. The look he was met with suggested that the other desired a further explanation and Yuuri obliged, “The Bolshoi is in Moscow. So, I was originally set up to live there – that’s where my apartment is and all. But, ah, when Yakov called Lilia about training Yuri she decided to take me too. She wanted to continue working with me personally.”

Viktor leaned across the table just slightly, inclined towards the other man, with a grin on his features. “Which do you prefer?” he asked curiously.

“Which?”

“Moscow or St Petersburg,” Viktor supplied and Yuuri let out a surprised little laugh.

“Oh. Um,” he paused, glancing out the window just briefly. It was hard to deny the charm of St Petersburg – it was unlike the modern look of Moscow, and particularly differed from New York where he had lived previously. It differed too from Japan, though there were hints of the seaside charm Hasetsu held. “I’m not really sure. St Petersburg is lovely. Everyone seems relaxed here, compared to other places I’ve lived. It's a different feeling from city hustle.”

“Everything’s a little grander, isn’t it? It’s kept its charm over the years,” Viktor said fondly, turning his gaze to look out the window as well for a moment. It wasn’t long though before he focused on the man across from him, poised with another question. “Where else have you lived, then? Are you a fast-paced city man?” Viktor asked with a little smile. It didn’t seem to fit Yuuri all that much; he was too demure for that sort of thing, from what Viktor had observed.

“Sort of?” Yuuri answered with a timid hum, taking a small drink to clear his throat, buying time almost, before replying. “Originally I’m from Hasetsu, in the Saga Prefecture of Japan. It has maybe 100,000 people if you want to be generous,” he spoke, giving a shrug at the rough estimate before he continued. “It’s sort of sleepy, slow-paced. It's a city but it's built around an old village so I doesn't feel bustling. My family runs a hot springs resort. There used to be a lot, but it’s just theirs now,” he explained, pausing for a moment. Yuuri wasn’t so sure that it was interesting information, but Viktor seemed to be hanging off each word.

“Sounds luxurious,” the Russian contributed, his tone leaving no room for doubt that he certainly felt as such. Yuuri replied with a soft laugh.

“I mean, it’s nice having it at your disposal, especially after physical training. I used to love it, but I haven’t been back there in a long time.” A melancholy sort of feeling edged into his voice, and he tried to move along from it rather quickly. This wasn’t the time for such moods. “I moved to New York when I was… eighteen? Maybe just before.”

“Wow,” Viktor blinked in surprise, a smile coming onto his face. “That’s a big jump from sleepy, seaside Hasetsu.” The Japanese word felt foreign on his tongue, awkward as it meshed with his accent already mingling with his English, but Yuuri didn’t cringe at his pronunciation. That was a victory, in a sense – the Russian decided to take it.

Humming, Yuuri entertained the thought, “By a few million people, I'm sure. So I lived there and started doing courses under the School of American Ballet – SAB, um… For a year or so? Then I signed a contract,” he continued to explain, not sure if Viktor was necessarily interested in the details of going from point A to point B and everything that rested in between. It didn’t seem pertinent to the current conversation, so he kept going. “I was under the American Ballet Theatre for a while, since I wasn’t really ready to move anywhere new yet – my roommate, Phichit, wanted to stay in the city for a while longer and I did too. So I spent four years in New York. Then a few months in Moscow, before coming here, finally,” Yuuri concluded, looking across the table to Viktor.

“You’ve definitely experienced a lot of different cities then. No wonder your English is so good,” he complimented. The ease with which Yuuri spoke English admittedly left Viktor a little jealous.

“New York definitely helped with that. I was doing some academic courses alongside my dance, so I was more or less forced to improve upon what I already had. My roommate taught me more conversation things too, he was always better with picking it up,” Yuuri said before he felt as though he had dominated the topic of conversation long enough. In his eyes, it truly couldn’t be that interesting and so he turned a question to Viktor, “What about you? You’ve travelled a lot with skating, I’m sure.” That was reasonable enough, considering the host countries for championships and finals seemed to change every year. He had a very rough understanding, thanks to Yuuko, and his latest exposure.

“Travelled, but not lived. It’s very different, I think. When I travel for skating it’s usually a very short affair – a week at maximum, and that’s often spent practicing and refining. Though on the off-season I like to travel, when I can,” Viktor supplied the information willingly, not minding if the subject was turned to him for a moment. He had so many questions about Yuuri’s life – what was Hasetsu like? What were the hot springs like? When did he start dancing? Was New York as insane as everyone made it out to be (he had only been there in the bubble of competitive figure skating, and a few short performances at Bryant Park after all; never a local experience)? What was Phichit like? Where was Yuuri's poodle now? Viktor pressed back the questions, seeing as it would be bad form to reveal he had learned about Yuuri's poodle through social media research, and with his luck  _that_ was what would come out.

“But you’ve always lived in St Petersburg, then?” Yuuri inquired, and he was met with a ready nod.

“Somewhere in the city, yes,” Viktor affirmed, which drew curiosity from Yuuri. He continued, “The area I grew up in was nowhere near as nice as where I live now. It was out on the edges of the city. Sort of old, but not necessarily bad. But not the same polished setting I have now.” That seemed logical enough; his family had never been poor and had lived relatively comfortably, but no one had been bringing in money like he was now. Even in the time he had lived with Yakov and Lilia as a teenager their home had been nothing _really_ like Viktor's current lifestyle. Between winnings, sponsorships, and appearances, Viktor was quite comfortable in his luxurious loft. He had thought it was important to invest in somewhere comfortable to live and recharge.

“I guess becoming the five-time World and European champion of figure skating would help things,” Yuuri offered playfully. He became thoughtful for a moment before speaking once more, “I’ve never been overly competitive – I mean, professionally,” he continued, and Viktor’s gaze fixed on him with interest, urging him to continue the speculation. Yuuri obliged and went on, “There was never much need for competition in dancing. It was either, you were good enough and got a place in the company, sometimes a really goodplace in the company, or you tried for something different. Maybe in the sense of wanting certain placements, I’ve been competitive-“

“For a premier danseur of the Bolshoi Ballet? I’d have to think there’s some competitive drive in you,” Viktor interjected with a wink, and the small gesture set Yuuri’s chest soaring.

“Some,” he agreed with a ready nod, “It’s just different than skating, definitely. It’s quite… fierce, isn’t it? I see Yuri’s determination and the way he talks about making his debut in the senior competition. It’s more intense than it used to seem on television,” Yuuri laughed, the comment rather passive in nature, but it caught Viktor’s attention. His brows drifted upward.

“I didn’t know you watched figure skating.” To Viktor’s knowledge, Yuuri had never let on to really know  _anything_ about the sport, or the structure of it either. From what he had observed between Yuuri’s work with Yuri and Lilia, he was sort of clueless when it came to figure skating.

“Well, I didn’t really follow figure skating, but I watched sometimes. My friend Yuuko, in Hasetsu, used to skate. She was really good, but never wanted to go further than national competitions before she finished her university studies, and she ended up starting a family between those two points,” Yuuri said, feeling his explanation was a little too lengthy, before getting back on topic. “I would watch it with her on and off.”

“You never told me!" Viktor whined playfully, resting an arm on the table as he leaned toward the other. His smile was massive, eyes alight with amusement. “All this time I thought you’d be sure I was just some clumsy man, floundering around on the ice. But you’ve watched competitions!” he lamented. Viktor tried not to ponder what years Yuuri had seen of his skating; there were undoubtedly some over _others_ that he would like Yuuri to know about, though it wasn't really Viktor's decision as to what people were allowed to see of his skating. It was all very, very public - the good and the bad.

Yuuri gave his head a little shake, quiet for a moment as he peeked out the window to gather his thoughts.

“It was fun letting you think that, for a while,” came the admission, and Viktor was pretty sure his head was spinning. Yuuri had been teasing him? Well – sort of teasing. Withholding information for his own amusement. “Besides, then you got to show off a little when you were training with Yuri.”

This man. Viktor wasn’t sure what to expect from him at this point.

“Yuuri!” he exclaimed with a laugh. It was perhaps a little loud for the restaurant, other patrons glancing in their direction as Yuuri shrank in his seat, expression politely apologetic to the glances strangers cast. Viktor didn’t seem to notice, readily focused on the man before him. “You’re so hard to pin down. I thought from day one that you were a no-nonsense sort of person. Now you’re telling me that you’ve been stringing me along.”

Yuuri was quiet for a moment, chewing his food before he spoke again. “It isn’t every day that decidedly the best figure skater in the world falls down on the ice front of you. And then bangs his knee off the bleacher stands. Are you trying to tell me that you wouldn’t have had fun with that too?” Yuuri challenged him innocently enough, a new glint to his gaze across the table, but Viktor’s attention was grabbed by another part of the sentence entirely.

“You think I’m the best?” Viktor asked dreamily. It was the sort of tone Yuuri might expect from someone who  _didn’t_ have more gold medals than he had worn, discarded ballet slippers. A laugh was drawn from him as a result, tumbling out before he could care to stop it.

“I think most people in the world think you’re the best,” Yuuri replied honestly, fighting the warmth he felt in his cheeks. “But because I’m here to work with Yuri, I think it’s better I don’t answer that question for now. Ask me again in December.” Viktor didn’t reply, only holding up a finger and opening up his phone. Yuuri’s brows knit in confusion, but he didn’t question it until he noted the grin on Viktor’s face. “What?” he prompted. He hadn’t said something foolish, or wrong, had he? Shifting in his seat, Yuuri mentally stomped the feeling down. Viktor took a moment longer to type before he turned the phone to present Yuuri with the screen.

The settings were in Russian and, as a result, it looked like a bit of a mess to Yuuri’s eyes. But he easily recognized the calendar application and the numbers along with it. He had to assume given the context that the reminder typed in Russian was concerning him affirming what Viktor evidently wanted to hear. Another laugh passed Yuuri’s lips but it was much dryer than the last, a brow raising as he looked at the Russian over the frames of his glasses.

“And what does that say, exactly?” Yuuri prompted, knowing easily from the grin on Viktor’s face he would be eager to inform him of the translation. Yuuri found that he was happy to entertain the dramatic notion at hand.

“ _Den’_ _podtverzhdeniya_ _,_ ” Viktor supplied the answer, pulling his phone back to save the date into the calendar.

“Day…” Yuuri trailed off, taking a small sip of his lemonade as he watched the other man. It was as though he could see the amusement growing in the other. His Russian wasn't good enough to grab onto the other term and translate himself, only the first.

“Day of confirmation,” Viktor finished, his phone disappearing from the table entirely. “I’m holding you to it! Once the Grand Prix Final is over, we’ve all skated, and your obligation to Yuri is finished, I’m going to ask you again. Hopefully, I’ll get an honest answer then.”

Yuuri swallowed quietly, drinking in the eager expression Viktor boasted. Why did any validation from him matter so crucially to him? Viktor was  _t_ _he_ talent everyone aspired to be in figure skating. Even Yuri had made vague comments that resembled admiration at some points while watching Viktor practice.

“You’re so extra,” was what Yuuri said instead of voicing his thoughts, letting out a bemused sigh as he shook his head. Viktor raised a brow.

“Extra what?” he inquired, head tilting to the side. Yuuri found the slight movement charming. It was like when you piqued a puppy’s interest. Still, he floundered to try and explain the slang, uncertain exactly what would convey it.

“It’s slang – um, dramatic?” Yuuri said, wondering if that was the right word to equate it to so it made sense. “Whenever someone does something that’s over the top, theatrical. You just say it’s ‘extra’,” he elaborated, hoping that would make it clearer than his knee-jerk reaction. Viktor laughed, and so the Japanese man took that as an indication that it made sense.

“A-ha, that’s funny,” Viktor mused, turning his sights thoughtfully around the restaurant for a moment. He looked back to Yuuri with a tender fondness to his gaze, mixed in with the clear amusement over the new terminology at his disposal. “So when Yuri is screaming-“

“That’s extra,” Yuuri confirmed.

“And when  _Yakov_ is screaming-“

“Extra.”

“And when Mila is harassing Yuri…”

“Also extra.”

“And Georgi-“

“The  _definition_ of extra, if we don’t count you.”

Viktor smiled, resting his chin in his hand as he observed the other. “Teach me more sometime,” he prompted, leaning his head into his hand leisurely. “Won’t you?” Yuuri paused for only a moment at the request, uncertain exactly what sort of weight the words carried. Was he asking for them to get lunch together more often? Spend time together in general? Or was he just reading way too far into things – like he did with, well,  _everything_ – and setting himself up for some sort of weird disappointment?

He settled on a mixture of the latter with a dash of Viktor’s natural curiosity facilitating such a request.

“Okay,” Yuuri nodded, dropping his eyes to the table when he replied. He still felt Viktor’s gaze trained on him, and he liked it. St Petersburg didn’t feel so lonely after all.

\--

By the time they returned to the rink it was well beyond the break Viktor had intended upon taking. His training with Yakov was supposed to start twenty minutes ago, but the appeal of having a few extra moments to split dessert with Yuuri had won out over his tight schedule. Impulsive, certainly, but as they had continued to chatter back and forth he couldn’t find it in himself to withdraw.

Viktor supposed that maybe if Yakov had called him and screamed like he was right now, he might have been more inspired to come back on time.

He had departed from Yuuri’s side in the locker rooms, needing to change back into his clothes for training rather than his street clothes. It was apparent that, as he sauntered out into the rink with skates in hand, Yakov wasn’t happy to see him. The glaring from the stern elderly man wasn’t unfamiliar – Viktor had been under Yakov’s careful eye for years _._ Something about it felt electric today - different. Offering a warm smile, Viktor waved with his free hand and sat down on the nearest bench of the bleachers.

“Where the  _hell_ have you been?” Yakov demanded, his Russian loud and gruff, no room for nonsense in his tone. Viktor put on his skates and took to lacing them up tightly.

“I was at lunch!” Viktor informed him almost eagerly, directing an easy smile over to his coach. The simplicity of the reply seemed to only further Yakov’s annoyance. It was apparent to Viktor that Yakov knew that he had been away at lunch, and he was sure that he also knew  _who_ he had been at lunch with.  There had been no need to be discreet, or at least Viktor had thought there hadn't been. 

The younger man prepared himself for the impending lecture.

“I told you,” Yakov began, and Viktor didn’t stop tying his laces to look up at the other man as he continued, “That you need to be serious this season. You’re not young anymore, Viktor. You need to train, and you need to be precise. We're not at a point anymore where mistakes are just little accidents that you can brush off. If you have a fall like you had in-“

“I’m  _not_ going to fall again, Yakov,” Viktor cut in, voice uncharacteristically steely as he interjected. Yakov huffed.

“No one  _plans_ to, and you didn't to then either but it still happened. All I’m telling you is that you can’t waste your time chasing after some ballet dancer. And  _another_ _thing,_ you can’t be cutting into other people’s time! I have a schedule for a reason, Lilia has a schedule for a reason. If you’re supposed to be here for one thirty-“

“It’s only one forty-five-“

“Then you  _be_ _here_ for one thirty. Don’t waste my time, Viktor. And don’t waste his either. He isn’t here for you to have a plaything.”

“He  _isn’t_ a plaything, Yakov. I’m allowed to get to know someone, you know?”

“Not on my time,” Yakov replied dryly, looking over the ice for a moment and shaking his head slowly. The annoyance festered between them for a moment, but it wasn’t hostile. It was the sort of argument Viktor imagined parents and their children having time and time again. Something about leaving dishes unwashed or a bed unmade, boot in the middle of the hallway maybe. Yakov always moved on without much difficulty.

When Viktor merely huffed out a sigh and shook his head, the coach continued, “I just don’t want you to lose focus again. You’ve been doing well the last five years especially; six if you cinch this season too- and I _know_ that's what you're chasing after, six consecutive Grand Prix. But Yuri is training like hell. I swear that boy needs nothing more than-“

“Pure spite?” Viktor laughed, getting to his feet and sliding off his blade guards to leave them behind on the bench. He levelled with Yakov, offering him an easy expression. He spoke clearly, deliberately; “I won’t lose focus. I’m sorry for being late. I’m not worried about Yuri.”

“Don’t be pompous,” Yakov replied with a snort. “He’s good, you know that. He’s bringing that short program to life, and Lilia’s working him to the absolute maximum he can take.”

“I’m not worried,” Viktor reiterated, looking over at Yakov as he brushed by to get to the ice. “I’m more inspired than I’ve been in years, Yakov. There’s no way that I can falter with such strong emotions this season. I  _feel_ it,” Viktor’s tone dabbled into a dreamlike quality and Yakov-

Yakov groaned and leaned up against the barrier of the rink. “Right, inspired. Great. Now get to your laps for warm up. Double them, so you feel it tomorrow. Then we’ll run your choreography and work out the new jump combination,” Yakov ordered, and with a mock salute, lazily in nature, Viktor got to work. It was puzzling, and Yakov had tried to ignore it for a month but Viktor’s seemingly endless interest in what the ballet dancer was doing was going to become an issue, he could feel it. Between now and the Grand Prix qualifiers, Yakov wondered if he would have to order Lilia to take him somewhere else so Viktor wasn’t distracted like a child staring at a shiny new toy car in the window of a department store.

And if Viktor was falling in love?

“Lord help us all,” Yakov sighed aloud to himself, settling onto the cold bench of the bleachers, shaking his head slowly.

With a spiteful fifteen-year-old, a heartbroken man, an overly pesky girl, and now a lovesick drama queen on his hands? As his pride and joy skater?

It would be a longer season than Yakov could have ever anticipated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> find me on tumblr at [aphhun](http://aphhun.tumblr.com/) for updates or potentially sneak peeks. 
> 
> feedback always appreciated. until next time!
> 
> 2017-03-08 > revised for continuity!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Viktor dances ballet and Yuuri learns a few things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for such a long wait on this update! this chapter was finished over the weekend but i wanted to hold off until wednesday to post to give me and my lovely beta reader [snow_falls](http://archiveofourown.com/users/snow_falls) a chance to get back on top of the upcoming chapters for more consistency in future updates.
> 
> i also had some planning to take care of for this fic before i could move too far forward! if you go through the previous three chapters you'll notice they've been slightly revised. nothing too major, but if you're so inclined it might be worth perusing though for some small differences, and some hints on what's to come.
> 
> as for the last chapter, you were all very concerned with yakov's motives! don't worry, he's no villain here. i hope you're not too angry with his decision in this chapter (and in the future), he really is well-intentioned and wants the best for his students.
> 
> enjoy!

It was two weeks after Viktor and Yuuri’s first outing for lunch, with May sweeping Spring’s fresh reprieve across St Petersburg, when Yakov changed Plisetsky’s schedule. Viktor realized fairly quickly this was an effect maneuver, as Yakov’s intentions were to keep interactions in perpendicular lines rather than an interconnected web. Keep Viktor’s focus in one row, and the team surrounding Yuri Plisetsky in another. Simplify; eliminate the risk of Viktor distracting from Yuri’s debut, or from Yuri interfering with Viktor’s goal to maintain his status as the top men’s skater.

Naturally, by changing the time of Yuri’s lessons with Lilia, Yakov had therefore altered the schedule for Yuuri Katsuki as well. Viktor wasn’t exactly thrilled about being forced to have his lunch break alone or starve.

While his relationship with Yakov stretched back further than he cared to remember, Viktor wasn’t necessarily enthused about the hard control the man seemed to exert over his _personal_ life, linked as it may seem to Yuri’s debut and training. Interfering with those were not Viktor’s intention, but merely the link that led him to Yuuri in the first place. More than anything, Viktor would always respect (and even love in a way) Yakov. The man had given him everything he could possibly give – knowledge, strength, a career, a roof over his head for many years, and fame, too. In Viktor’s heart, there could never be ill-feelings towards the coach, who was just as much a father-figure now.

But Yakov had a tendency to step on toes, and Viktor wasn’t going to allow it more than absolutely necessary. He was a grown man, wandering into his late twenties and understood that, _yes_ , he could undoubtedly hold respect and reverence for Yakov without listening to him. In fact, he had been making a habit for nearly his entire career of doing just that. There seemed to be no need to start now after so many years together.

So Viktor hadn’t taken Yakov’s actions as a deterrent. Rather, he had taken it as a challenge to vary how he trained himself to break from what his body had become accustomed to. He had also endeavoured to manage his time more wisely than he had before when he was graced with a coach who didn’t want him to die alone.

There was nothing he could do to change the time of Yuri’s ballet training because, admittedly, it did seem to take some pressure off of everyone’s schedules. Viktor now had more time on the ice by himself to work and perfect his programs. Lilia seemed content to change it to free up her late mornings for other business to attend to. Yuri had expressed his relief with a loud _“Christ, fucking_ **_thank you_ ** _”_ when Yakov had told him the alterations to his training schedule. It meant slightly longer days spent at the sports complex for the fifteen-year-old, but it also granted time to breathe in places it hadn’t been allotted before. Yuri’s tutor, too, seemed pleased at the change.

Even for Yuuri, it seemed to work better. With the large studio free from Yuri’s old time slot, Lilia had relinquished it to Yuuri, despite the makeshift studio he had been using for the past few months. It was still Yuuri’s to use if he wanted it, but Viktor had a feeling it wouldn’t be as frequently. Yuuri could have the proper studio and Lilia had insisted whichever he preferred would be adapted to; the extra space would be beneficial as well, as they moved steadily closer to his November debut.

Viktor had noticed how pleased Yuuri had seemed at the prospect of proper space for his training, though he also observed the danseur leaving the original studio from time to time. Viktor supposed it was more private from prying eyes, and so Yuuri seemed to use it when he was left to his own devices during independent training sessions when Lilia had other matters to tend to.

Since everyone else seemed happy enough in their new schedules, Viktor decided to change his just a little too. Or rather, the subject matter of his schedule.

So, Viktor invited himself along to Yuri’s ballet lessons rather than his typical afternoon off-ice training.

“What is he doing here?” Yuri’s voice was accusative when Viktor first strolled into the studio. It was empty save Yuri and Yuuri, who stood at the barre to warm up, and Lilia a few paces away from them, observing and, Viktor assumed, instructing before he had waltzed inside. But Yuri didn’t look to Lilia when he barked out the question, rather dropping his focus on posture and stretches for a moment and turning to look at Yuuri who stood behind. The danseur’s face flushed at the insinuation that it was his fault Viktor was inside the studio now.

“Focus, Yuri,” Lilia interrupted before Yuuri had an opportunity to answer. The student seemed to deepen his scowl, but did return to Lilia’s instructions. “Both of you,” Lilia amended her statement when Yuuri seemed to stare at Viktor in confusion for a moment longer too. He was only met with a charming smile from Viktor, and so Yuuri blinked a few times before seeming to revert his focus once more to assisting with Yuri’s form.

Viktor only spared a few moments for stretching, already limber from his on-ice training completed prior. He had taken a short breather before finding his way here, and so he fell into practice at the barre as well. For a few moments, he was able to continue on, Lilia only giving him a look of sheer annoyance before continuing to focus on the youngest in the room.

However, Yuri wasn’t so excited to share his training time and space.

“I don’t want him in here. I don’t like it,” Yuri said in a rush, dropping away from the barre entirely, both feet back on the floor flat. He had a way of making it clear when he wasn’t going to continue. Lilia looked reluctant to entertain the argument at hand, but with Yuri’s now closed off and slouched posture, it was obvious he was going to stand his stubborn ground on the matter.

“Fix your posture, Yuri Plisetsky,” said the instructor. Lilia then turned her severe gaze over to Viktor who still lingered, half in the movement she had been guiding them through in the now abandoned lesson. “Mr Nikiforov, is there a reason, in particular, that you’ve taken it upon yourself to join our lesson? It is a private session.”

Viktor beamed a practiced and perfect expression. “I thought since I choreographed Yuri’s short program it would only be appropriate that I see some of his training as well. To see where it can be incorporated into the short program.” A simple enough explanation, though not infallible. Lilia quirked a brow; it was hard to imagine she could look more unimpressed than she already had at her time being compromised.

“You have choreographed his program, you did not become his coach, however,” Lilia said, though there wasn’t much force behind it. Exasperated - as though she was merely entertaining children to placate an argument. Viktor supposed that’s what this _was_ , for all intents and purposes. “It would be more suitable for Yakov to be overseeing this lesson if anyone must.”

“Ah, but he has a one-on-one with his ice dancers right now. So I thought,” Viktor began, easing out of the stretch and straightening his clothes, “Why not take over some of the responsibility for Yakov? Seeing as I’m finished my on-ice training by the time you begin, and I’m the creative mind behind Yuri’s short program this season-”

There was a scoff from Yuri as Viktor spoke, and he could all but _feel_ Lilia’s patience running out with each passing second. He vamped up the charisma and spoke a little faster. “ _So,_ since Yakov can’t be present, and I’m around throughout Yuri’s on-ice training for at least an hour  I think it would only be beneficial to Yuri if I offered direction as well,” Viktor explained, studying Lilia for a moment to see where she stood (her expression really didn’t offer much) before he continued.

“To do so I need to be able to better understand the direction of ballet Yuri is learning, to help integrate the movements into the short program - in a way that best suits Agape as a movement in the piece. What would make more sense than partaking in the lessons myself? I’m scheduled for my off-ice conditioning right now anyway, and physio said it would be good to change my routine every so often as to not become complacent. Refining my ballet skills under you would be an honour.”

“Bullshit, this is bullshit,” Yuri grumbled under his breath, taking off across the studio floor to where there was a rather undignified pile. A water bottle was pulled from the training bag, and the teenager started drinking greedily as Lilia considered the situation at hand.

“You have been here no longer than ten minutes, and have already disrupted my lesson twice,” Lilia said firmly, as though her decision had been made on the matter and wouldn’t budge. Viktor kept his eyes locked on her, a sort of silent plea bred with a challenge. He _knew_ she could see where the benefits of him being here may be. Though he wasn’t Yuri’s coach or official choreographer, he had designed the short program. He understood the concept behind it better than anyone could. Passing him up on conditioning the movements into the peak of grace and emotion that was Agape would be foolish.

Lilia looked away from Viktor’s challenging gaze dismissively, which made him falter. Had that been her decision made? Make him leave because of interruptions he hadn’t (entirely) meant to cause? Viktor watched as her piercing eyes fell instead on Yuuri, who still stood with a hand on the barre, seemingly a little bewildered at the exchange.

“Yuuri, these are as much your lessons to teach as they are my own,” Lilia told him, “Do you see the benefit in Mr Nikiforov’s presence in the lessons? Speak honestly.”

Having the tables turned to him seemed to catch Yuuri off guard, as Viktor watched Yuuri’s expression deepen in its confusion. He didn’t respond right away and, if Viktor wasn’t so confident in what the answer would be, he might have worried. But he understood Yuuri and had faith in their connection; he had spent two weeks getting lunch with Yuuri every day, getting to know him a little more, a little more deeply each and every time. Important tidbits of the danseur’s life were exchanged over light meals. Viktor knew about Yuuri’s family, about growing up in Japan, how he had sometimes struggled with balancing academics and dance, how his parents didn’t quite ‘ _get it’_ but were supportive all the same-

“I think that he might be a bit of a distraction to the task at hand,” Yuuri said, honesty riddling his tone while he spoke, and Viktor felt the colour drain from his face. That hadn’t been what Yuuri was supposed to say; he was supposed to be thrilled with the idea of having Viktor on-hand at the lessons, happy to have his input, happy to be able to spend some time together-

Before Viktor could wither like a flower and take to the ground in tears like he so felt like doing in that moment, Yuuri continued to speak. “But I also think the benefits will outweigh it, once we’ve all settled into having another person in practice. Viktor is the one who designed the short program, like he said. And if Agape doesn’t have the same influence from ballet as Yuri’s free skate, his performances will lack the consistency in his style we’re working towards. So I think he should stay, at least a few times, to see if there’s anything we may miss...”

Viktor was blooming with affection.

“Yuuri, that’s so sweet!” he cried out, sidling up closer to Yuuri to drape an arm over him. Yuuri didn’t exactly lean into it, but he didn’t shrink away either. To Viktor, that was a success he would gladly take. He smiled across to Lilia, the gleefulness of it all detracting attention from how deep a shade of red Yuuri’s face had become over the praise and contact. “I won’t be a further distraction if I can help it, Ms Baranovskaya. I’m excited to have a role in perfecting Yuri’s performance for his debut as well-”

“We’re _competitors,_ asshole.”

“-and I think some lessons from you can only improve my own standings.” It only seemed to be good measure to throw in another compliment. It didn’t soften her expression all that much, as though the praise fell on deaf ears. But she relented.

“Very well. You are on probation, Mr Nikiforov.“

“You’re seriously going to let him stay?” Yuri started to speak over Lilia, earning him a sharp look from the woman. He snapped his mouth shut, though seemed to be chomping at the bit for free air space to speak again. Viktor would have shrunk under that look as well. When Lilia wasn’t busy looking stoic and graceful, as a former prima ballerina ought to, she could look downright terrifying with a motherly edge. Somehow it flattered her, Viktor decided.

“And I will decide on a lesson by lesson basis if you are invited to stay based on your behaviour. Are we clear? You are not to become a nuisance to me, to Yuri Plisetsky, or to Yuuri Katsuki.”

“We’re clear, Ms Baranovskaya. Thank you,” Viktor said, releasing the gentle hold he had pulled Yuuri into though still lingering closer than what would be professionally polite. Viktor had spent years keeping a lofty distance between himself and others, and so now that he had someone he _wanted_ to be physically close to, he was rather reluctant to keep a broad gap. He and Yuuri still weren’t anything official, or even loosely defined, but after knowing each other for over a month - and two weeks of lunch dates and frequent communication - Viktor imagined his point of liking Yuuri was coming across to the danseur.

“Well, this is fan-fucking-tastic. Yuri, what do _you_ think about inviting Mr Airhead into your private lessons? You don’t like it? No? Well too bad,” grumbled Yuri from the other side of the studio. He didn’t seem to be making any sort of move to cross the lofty space that now separated them, and so Lilia fixed her gaze in his direction again.

“As you seem to believe you have warmed up long enough, we will move into centre, Mr Plisetsky. Quickly now, stop lingering about and growling like an angry child. We have wasted more than enough time today already.”

“You say that like it’s my fault...” Yuri muttered, voice trailing off at the end and so Viktor couldn’t quite catch what was attached to the end of the sentiment. Nothing that seemed to phase Lilia, however.

“Mr Katsuki – and Mr Nikiforov, if you would both be so kind as to join Mr Plisetsky for centre class.”

It was with a polite nod that Yuuri released the hold he had on the barre, stepping away from the windowed wall and Viktor’s vague sort of hovering. Viktor trailed behind him, close enough so he could speak quietly to Yuuri alone.

“Now would probably be a good time to admit something to you,” Viktor said, and Yuuri’s brows furrowed in confusion as he glanced back towards the Russian.

“And what would that be?” Yuuri asked, leaving a comfortable gap between where he stopped and the space Yuri had taken up to begin their training.

“I haven’t danced ballet in maybe three years,” Viktor said. As expressed he _had_ never been particularly fond of it. As entertainment and art? Yes. He adored it, loved watching it, and seeing it at it’s highest forms of artistry. But to dance it? He preferred to maintain its loose roots of influence, and shy away from the days he used to spend practicing it hours on end as a younger skater.

“Can I tell you something too then, Viktor?” Yuuri asked, shifting his weight from side to side to limber up.

“Anything,” Viktor replied quickly, perhaps a little more so than necessary, but genuine at its core.

Yuuri offered him a playful grin that hinted at a challenge. “Try to keep up. This practice is going to kick your ass.”

And so it had, once Viktor had managed to pick his jaw up off of the floor when he recovered from the beautiful sight that was a playful, competitive Yuuri Katsuki.

\--

“Do you think Yakov is going to let you keep coming to Yuri’s lessons?” Yuuri posed the question as they made their way back from a nearby café. It wasn’t lunch for either of them – but they had fallen into a routine of sorts to go together after the hour of ballet training was finished.

The first class had been brutal, but Viktor hung in there. As May bled into June, it became more evident there was merit to his presence; it wasn’t all to spite Yakov's actions, and it reflected in the anecdotes Viktor would offer to Yuri while working on the teen's short program.

It was improving rapidly, between Yakov and Lilia’s careful conditioning, and Viktor’s new insight aided by ballet lessons. It could almost flow into his free program now should it be necessary, which showed in practice when Yuri would run them back to back. The grace of his movements was becoming more and more apparent with each passing day of training. As time steadily rolled by, and Yuri’s performance increased tenfold.

So Viktor was assured that, _no_ , he wasn’t just a lovesick puppy trying to get scraps of Yuuri’s presence and attention. He had a purpose in that class and it could, by however slim a margin, cost him the gold at this year’s Grand Prix Series on the horizon. If that was the price, Viktor may just take it if the payoff was finally having a challenge once more.

“Yakov doesn’t particularly have a choice, if we’re being honest,” Viktor replied, looking over at Yuuri while they walked before his gaze ultimately returned to the streets ahead least he bump into someone. Laborious as it felt to not be able to stare after Yuuri like he wanted to, Viktor was sure a pedestrian would prefer not to have scalding hot black tea dumped on them because he wasn’t paying attention, and he would prefer to drink said tea.

He continued on thoughtfully, “I don’t think he’ll stop me now that I’ve been there nearly a month. He’s realized that there have been improvements he and Lilia couldn’t see in the short program. They’re small adjustments but they’ll be the ones that make a difference when it comes down to his presentation.”

Yuuri seemed thoughtful for a moment, reflecting on the reasoning offered. “Well, I’m glad that it’s helping Yuri prepare. He’s really talented, isn’t he? I mean, I still know only the necessities, but-“

“No, you’re exactly right. He’s extraordinarily talented. That sort of once in a generation talent. Yuri will be very interesting to see in senior competition. I’ve never had a chance to go against him, so it should be enlightening. Junior competition was always too easy for him, even in his debut years. It will be interesting to see how he adjusts now.”

“Are you worried?” Yuuri inquired, genuine curiosity in his tone. If it were anyone else Viktor might brush the question aside, but he merely gave a small shrug of his shoulders at the inquiry. He felt comfortable being transparent with Yuuri.

“Not riddled with it. But I’m not as complacent as I’ve felt in former seasons. I have a higher drive than usual to want to place first in the Grand Prix - for a few different reasons,” Viktor mused, before shaking his head and continuing forward with his original train of thought. “But for a very long time I haven't really seen the competitions as competitions because there was no one who would force me to. I think that’s changing, this year, if only a little.”

To be honest, Viktor didn’t know how realistic it was for Yuri to burn through the ranks as quickly as he would have to in order to seize gold at the final. Even with Viktor aside, there were talented skaters that would prove a challenge in Yuri’s debut. However, after seeing him train, and improve so rapidly, Viktor wasn’t feeling passive like he used to. Perhaps not worried so much as he was engaged…

But bearing all these things in mind, Viktor still wasn’t sure if Yuri would be able to edge out the weighty twenty-five point average Viktor often kept between him and competitors on the scoreboards. So perhaps he wasn’t as concerned about his own placement as he was worried for those of others who had trailed behind him. Yuri might prove to upset the dynamics yet.

“I guess you’re sort of a figure skating anomaly, aren’t you?” Yuuri offered with a little laugh, nudging Viktor delicately with his elbow. Viktor refrained from critiquing the comment. He wholeheartedly disagreed with the sentiment, given his shortcomings in the past he had been dodging the topic of. _‘An anomaly would never falter_ ,’ Viktor thought, almost bitterly, but bit his tongue on expressing it. Yuuri wouldn’t know better and it didn’t feel like the time to endeavour on such a conversation when they were only out to retrieve coffee.

Viktor decided he would prefer to maintain the facade of himself at hand despite what he felt was very public evidence arguing against it. He would maintain the image of a legend in front of Yuuri. Unwavering. A champion.

It was false, in his mind, but easier than the facts for now. A conversation better saved.

“I still don’t know much about figure skating – especially the competition, or scoring,” Yuuri continued to speak when Viktor didn’t,  “And I’ve hardly done more than watch programs here or there to understand better for Yuri, or with Yuuko when I was young,” he offered as they entered the sports complex once again. The lobby was mostly empty, a few people milling about and lingering press but Viktor paid them no mind, and Yuuri had learned not to as well.

“But I don’t think it takes an incredibly trained eye to understand that you’re special. You are a ‘once in a generation’ skater too, as you put it.”

Viktor had to remind himself to breathe because- _sure_ , he had been told that by reporters, judges, sponsors, and random fans. Viktor was _the_ face of figure skating, and would potentially continue to be regarded as such throughout the future as a standard from the past. But between himself and Yuuri Katsuki, Viktor felt he was the fan gazing up at their idol who stood on a podium and whispered down to inspire. The praise did not greet his senses lightly, and a smile broke out onto his face.

“Kind words from a once in our generation danseur,” Viktor returned, pausing in the lobby. They had to part ways now, responsibilities dragging them apart in such a fashion Viktor couldn’t weasel his way out of this time. Sadly not everything could go his way. He did have programs to perfect despite the lovesick haze his mind had been stuck in, seeming only to deepen as time wore on between them. And deepen it did as he watched Yuuri’s face flush with charming warmth at the returned praise.

“I wouldn’t go so far to say _that_ ,” Yuuri insisted, shaking his head, “There are so many premiers and companies; it really isn’t a fair comparison because there are so many just like me, I’m really just-“

“Exceptional,” Viktor cut him off firmly, a little smile teetering on his lips still. “Invited to join the Bolshoi, bypassing all lower positions to become a premier danseur upon arrival. Tutored privately for your debut under Lilia Baranovskaya, world famous for her time as a prima ballerina? Trusted with training a figure skating prodigy for a world anticipated debut? While making your own debut in November?” Viktor listed off the facts like they were the weather, before he tapped at his chin. “Not so many like you precisely, yes? I’ve watched you dance as well, and you’re different. I can't place my finger on how but... It's a new experience. You ought to realize that, Yuuri.”

Yuuri seemed to deliberate on the words for a moment before he let out a short little laugh and shook his head, cheeks warmer still and eyes avoidant. “I... Really have to get going, if I’m late for my training I’ll be doing repentance at the barre for hours. But... I’ll see you tomorrow at class, Viktor.” The departure that followed was quick, faster than Viktor had really been hoping for. The premier danseur stalked across one side of the lobby, and Viktor stood there for a moment before turning to leave in the opposite direction.

Had he pushed too far, or come on too strong? He felt he hadn’t said anything but the truth but it had been enough to send Yuuri on his way.

That night Yuuri had sent him a text, wondering how Viktor knew he had been invited to the Bolshoi ranks rather than having applied for an audition like most others.

Viktor had smiled at the screen and merely sent back a line of sparkle emojis and the kissy face.

He wasn’t sure now was the best time to admit he had read for many hours on the internet about Yuuri’s career. Maybe someday, but for now?

There was still time for secrets to remain between them.

\--

“The assignments have been released!”

“What?”

“Yuuri, the _assignments!_ For the Grand Prix qualifiers?” Mila waved her phone in her hand as she spoke, grinning over at the danseur who stood on the opposite side of the plastic barrier, feet firmly on the concrete floor rather than the ice. Viktor, Yuri, and Georgi milled about, all of them in a sort of plateau from their training.

Now nearly three months into his stay in St Petersburg, Yuuri had found his niche in the dynamic of these skaters. He ate lunch with Mila and Yuri more often than not, as Mila’s schedule near mimicked Yuri’s. Georgi was a bit of a mystery but kind all the same. He was entertaining to watch skate in Yuuri’s humble opinion, due to the charged nature of his performances. There was something to be said about the raw emotion behind each movement. Mila insisted that it was terrifying at times, but Yuuri thought intense was perhaps a more polite term. Georgi would surely never failed to enrapture the audience, although some of it might be terror. Yuuri still liked it.

“Oh. Of course!” he said, nodding a few times. Only vaguely did he really know what they were, but…

“Oi, someone explain it to him. You can tell by the look on his face he doesn’t have a fucking clue how it works.” Sometimes Yuri could be a saviour despite his gruff nature.

“Hm? I thought Viktor would have been all over explaining the ins and outs to him by now with all the time he spends chatting to him. Or at least you would have been nice enough to do it, Yuri,” Mila cooed, getting only a growl in return as Yuri stomped off of the ice in his skates, to retrieve his phone. Georgi came to a stop at the boards nearby, and Viktor glided over as well.

If their distraction from practice hadn’t been notable before, it would be now. Yuuri shrunk back slightly, hoping that _he_ wouldn’t be blamed for their decision to take a break. The hour they happened to overlap for on-ice training often turned out like this but seemed to only extend when Yuuri was engaged in the conversation as well.

“It’s really not complicated,” assured Georgi, pausing to take a drink from his water bottle. “The Grand Prix is broken up into different competitions across the world, each skater competes in two of them for a place in the Final, which will be in Barcelona this year,” he said, and Yuuri was content to know that much. Anything else would likely just be details lost on him.

“Mhm. So the ISU makes all of the assignments, and we skate in whatever competition we’ve been designated to. Depending on how we place, we get a certain amount of points,” Mila elaborated, and Yuuri was still with them - fairly simplistic, “The top six per discipline with the highest scores go on to skate in the Final like Georgi said.”

“Not so complicated,” Yuuri said with a nod, stepping aside so Georgi could come off the ice and pass to retrieve his own phone, likely intent on checking the assignments. “So… Where is everyone going, then?”

“Well, I’m off to France, and then Japan. What a luxury,” Mila hummed, and Viktor didn’t bother to get his own phone, instead opting to lean over Mila’s shoulder to look at the assignments she had already pulled up. He scrolled for a brief moment, finger dragging along her phone screen, before he spoke.

“Ah, America and Rostelecom,” he mused, seeming thoughtful over the information. Yuuri made a bit of a face, and Viktor caught the confused expression with a smile before reiterating, “Moscow.”

“I’ll be with you for Rostelecom,” Georgi said, glancing up from his own screen, “Then to the Cup of China.”

Yuri let out a groan from where he had taken up residence on the bleacher, skate guards on and legs stretched out onto one of the benches. Mila raised a brow at the pitiful sound.

“What’s wrong, muffin? Not happy?”

“I was hoping to _get away_ from all of you for a while,” he quipped, shaking his head and locking his phone. His head went back against the bleachers behind him dramatically, lips settled into a deep frown.

“Ooh, who are you with?”

“America and China. So. Drama Queen One, and Drama Queen Two.”

Mila cracked a grin in Yuuri’s direction, “Wonder which one is which.”

“Doesn’t matter, I’ll grind them both into dust one way or another. No offense, Georgi,” Yuri amended, propping himself up on his elbows, braced on the row of bleachers behind him. He looked downright leisurely if not a tad awkward, skates still laced to his feet propped on the bench.

Viktor let out a whine, resting his arms against the boards as he leaned around Yuuri to look at the teen. “What about me?” he prompted, and Yuri merely fixed him with a hard look.

“Screw you, that’s what. I already have to spend more time with you than anyone could ever want to because apparently ‘private lesson’ means shit to you. Now I have to deal with your annoying ass in America too.”

“Yuuri doesn’t complain about having to spend time with Viktor in your private lesson,” Mila said teasingly, and despite thinking his face couldn’t instantly heat up more, Yuuri felt his ears burn when Georgi let out a little laugh and nodded in agreement.

“Katsuki’s getting paid to be here,” Yuri barked out in defense, taking to his feet from the bleachers, and moving toward ice once again. He always seemed to get restless in debates like this; Yuuri had noticed over the previous months between squabbles with the other skater, Yakov, and Lilia. Prodigal as he may be, his age was apparent in this way. Yuuri thought it was more reassuring than anything, to know Yuri hadn’t been forced to grow up entirely at the age of fifteen.

“So are you, technically,” Georgi offered, and by the look he received, Yuuri would wager a guess that the earlier remark exempting Georgi from Yuri’s spite was now retracted.

“Whatever. All I know is that America and China will hardly even be a warm-up, and the final will be a breeze. And I’ll be standing in the centre of the podi-”

“Babicheva, Plisetsky! You’re both supposed to be practicing, your break isn’t for another 20 minutes! Back to your jumps, both of you!” Yakov’s voice called out from the far end of the rink, where his office was hosted. Sometimes Yuuri wondered if Yakov had cameras set up to watch the ice from hs office too, with how seamlessly he was able to enforce his strict work ethic. Yuri continued grumbling under his breath as he pushed off harder to move towards the other end of the rink, and as Mila took off with a wave and a smile to the lingering three. As Georgi became occupied by his phone, Viktor smiled and rest his arms against the wall of the rink, leaning backward to watch their training.

“You’ll come to see me in Moscow, won’t you Yuuri?” Viktor asked after a moment, voice as casual as he could manage to keep it. He knew that the tinge of hopefulness was still present, he merely hoped it was subtle enough Yuuri may not call him out on it. After three months, two of which they had been spending plenty of time together, they still weren’t anything defined - which was fine. Viktor was just happy to have the other man’s companionship. Still, he had that lingering sense of hopeful affection.

“When is it?” Yuuri asked, resting against the barrier as well, leaning forward so his face was about level with Viktor’s, gazing out at the skaters on the ice.

“The first week of November,” Viktor said, sparing a glance over in Yuuri’s direction. They were quite close, and so he didn’t let his eyes linger there for long.

“I’ll already be back in Moscow, then,” Yuuri said simply. Viktor hardy realized that Yuuri hadn’t exactly answered the question he posed, busy processing the reminder Yuuri would be departing from St Petersburg for his debut at some point. The thought of it made his stomach sink in the strangest way. Viktor tried not to dwell on it for long.

“Ah. When do you leave?”

“The twenty-sixth of October. About a month from the performance.”

“Isn’t that cutting it close?” Viktor asked curiously, and the huff that escaped Yuuri indicated that the danseur had held that same viewpoint for quite some time now. Viktor smiled still. “Well, in that case, you’ll have to come and see to destress. Promise me, yeah? I’ll get you in and you’ll come to Rostelecom to cheer me on.”

Yuuri shifted his stance, seemingly a little taken off guard by the proposal. “You really don’t have to do that,” he insisted earnestly, but Viktor was already shaking his head at the weak protest.

“I wouldn’t if I didn’t want to. I’d like for you to see me skate properly. Practice is a different situation and _you said_ you’ll need to decide who’s the better skater between Yuri and I. You can’t do that if you don’t see me in competition at least once,” Viktor egged him on playfully, and Yuuri seemed to relent if that smile he gave was anything to go off of. He had opened his mouth to reply before another more feminine voice called their attention away from the illusion of a private moment. Neither had noticed Lilia leaving Yakov’s office, nor her approach over to them until she was merely a few paces away.

“Yuuri, I’ve made some phone calls to prepare your travel arrangements. It will be a tight time frame but with proper preparation, I’m sure you can be aptly prepared. Posture,” she corrected as an afterthought, and Yuuri straightened from where he had been leaning lazily against the rink’s barrier.

“Travel arrangements?” he asked, a little befuddled as to what required her making phone calls. Having been planning on taking the train back to Moscow, he had been intending to take care of it later.

“The placements for the Grand Prix were announced. You will be accompanying Yakov and I to America for Yuri’s first qualifier in the series. Your presence at the second qualifier will not be required because of the debut, of course.”

“America?” Yuuri repeated, suddenly feeling rather silly for only echoing things back to Lilia as she fed him information. He just hadn’t been aware that he would be going to the qualifiers as well, seeing as he had only just learned about them in any sort of substantial level. “A-ah, thank you very much for taking care of the arrangements, Ms Baranovskaya,” he amended and, when she seemed content with that, she brushed by and continued on her way out of the rink. She didn’t tend to stay when Yakov only had Yuri running exercises rather than programs.

Viktor’s grin was positively wolfish, and Yuuri gave him the tiniest little shove when he wrapped his head around the expression.

“I’m going for Yuri,” he insisted quickly as he caught the look, but Viktor had already turned himself around to face Yuuri head on, hands braced against the wall between them. It seemed to be taking a substantial amount of willpower for Viktor to _not_ just hop over the rink’s barrier onto the other side, and for that Yuuri was thankful. After the sly comments from Mila, he wasn’t sure exactly how much more flushing his face could take today, and Viktor jumping over the boards would do just that.

“Team Russia is team Russia,” Viktor near crooned, leaning over the barrier between them towards Yuuri. The danseur cleared his throat and leaned back marginally, just to keep a respectable distance between them. Despite his high hopes, heat rose to his face again; it was hard to not be flustered when Viktor was like this.

“Don’t let Yuri hear you say something like that. I think he would blow a gasket at the thought,” Yuuri laughed, trying to defuse some of his embarrassment. There didn’t seem to be anyone paying them mind in particular, but it wasn’t behaviour he was wholly accustomed to yet. Of course, he had picked up on hints of Viktor’s possible flirting recently - though Yuuri hesitated to rationalize it as such, assuring himself rather that it was likely just Viktor’s playful personality. Yuuri was more comfortable around the other now, but Viktor’s forward nature was still subject to a learning curve. Yuuri tried not to overthink Viktor’s intentions or therefore lack of.

Viktor tilted his head, not trying to bridge the space between them again but rather staying put while he spoke. “Either way. I’m happy that you’ll be there. In America _and_ in Moscow. I’d die knowing you’re in the city and not there to see me, so I don’t want you thinking you’re off the hook for Moscow now that you’re going to Skate America too.”

Yuuri smiled, Viktor thought it might be the most dazzling expression he’d ever seen, and warmly replied; “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hopefully this chapter didn't have too much jumping around, but i did want to get things moving along in our timeline. 
> 
> you can find me on my tumblr as well as over on my [new twitter.](http://twitter.com/aphhun/)
> 
> until next time, feedback is always appreciated! see you all next week! (｡´•ᴗ• `｡)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Viktor finally makes a move

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i tweaked the fic summary because it's been bothering me lately. i slapped the original on when this was supposed to be a two-shot at best but now that we're five chapters in, i figured it warranted something proper. hopefully the change wasn't the source of "wtf is this fic im subscribed to?" for anyone. on that note though, this piece has 600+ subscribers now so... hi to all of you haha.
> 
> beta'd by the lovely [Snow_Falls](http://archiveofourown.com/users/snow_falls)! 
> 
> enjoy ♡♡

On the mornings Viktor wandered to the ballet studio first rather than the private training room he reserved, he often heard familiar orchestral suites from ballet. Notes of classical music would flutter into the hall as there was a swell in the composition. Viktor knew, in combination with this music, beyond the door of the studio would be Yuuri Katsuki, diligently training for November. All of this had been commonplace for the last three and a half months.

Moments he and Yuuri could spare as he cracked down further on perfecting their respective performances had become few and far between. With qualifier assignments determined a few weeks prior, and time steadily marching forth as they now settled into the dog days of July, there was hardly time to waste for anyone concerned. So Viktor snatched up each moment Yuuri could offer like water to a thirsty man and resigned himself to standing at the wall and observing when Yuuri left the door open as a silent invitation to him.

This morning, things were slightly different.

Viktor had decided to see Yuuri before beginning his own off-ice training, and so that remained the same; along with music floating through the hall leading to the studio. The door was cracked open just a hint which allowed the melody of the music to flow through. It wasn’t what Yuuri practiced – it wasn’t from a ballet at all. The music was familiar because, as Viktor edged his way into the studio space quietly, it became stunningly clear it was the music for his own free skate for the present season.

As the Aria1 echoed throughout the studio, Viktor hardly processed the music he heard day in and day out. His attention was absolutely fixated on Yuuri’s movements instead. The usual black leather slippers Yuuri wore were left and forgotten at the other end of the studio with his bag, and instead, pointe shoes were intricately laced and at work.

Yuuri was less precise than Viktor had ever seen him move, despite the demands of pointe shoes. Movements were more languid and flowing than the technical perfection Lilia’s watchful eye exacted during practice. No, this was far different from that, and it was evident in each slight gesture. In a way it seemed there was more artistry to it. It was free. Viktor watched the music guide Yuuri, or perhaps Yuuri guided the music instead, as he shaped the course of the sorrowful, haunting notes with elegance.

It took only a moment for Viktor to realize he was watching his own choreography along with the familiar music. Notes of his movements were incorporated into Yuuri’s own, adapted while he glided across the hardwood. His eyes were shut delicately and expression the epitome of longing; longing for something, calling to the partner of the dance Viktor’s program sought after.

To see it represented as it was here, an enrapturing show of control and emotion across the studio’s floor rather than ice, Viktor wasn’t sure he even did the program justice anymore. Not with how wrapped up in the private performance Yuuri was, with how graceful he moved, limbs outstretched to grasp at what was out of reach, before curling back in regretfully. Viktor felt as though he was witnessing a horribly private moment, intruding upon something he shouldn’t see even if it was  _his_ free skate music,  _his_ choreography at work here.

That had to mean something, right?

Yuuri made it an art of a different kind, and Viktor felt a new sort of understanding settle in the pit of his gut as he witnessed it unfold before him. The revelation for his program he had been waiting for.

When the Aria’s last notes tapered off into the quiet Yuuri’s movements stilled, holding the final position of Viktor’s free skate. Sure that his slackened jaw wouldn’t serve him, Viktor could only watch as Yuuri’s chest rose and fell steadily, controlled as he may be, fighting to level out his breathing after the exertion of the impassioned dance. In that moment Yuuri was beautiful. Viktor had known that since he had turned to face Yuuri months ago. But never had it been so glaringly obvious that it ran much deeper through the danseur than outward appearance.

Viktor was too absorbed in his thoughts, gaze blindly fixed on Yuuri to realize that he had since opened his eyes and had turned only marginally, likely to stop the auto-play of his phone which now allowed sounds of a piano to float through the studio. That intent snapped away. In its place, a startled cry tore from Yuuri’s throat, and his artful posture was abandoned. Rather, Yuuri toppled over, an odd sight to behold given his grace and control only moments ago. Startled at the sudden sound and the crash landing of the danseur, Viktor’s attention was grounded once again, and he surged forward with concern written over his features.

“Yuuri! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you!” Words flew out of his mouth quickly as he knelt, hands hovering out of consideration not to grab, and nervous energy that the other might have injured himself when he went down. “Are you alright? You’re not hurt, are you?” Viktor asked in a rush, voice serious as he looked over Yuuri for any indication of limbs at odd angles, joints sprained, or obvious contusions. The danseur was still for a moment before he adjusted his position on the floor, no longer braced on his elbows but rather sitting up with his hands pressed into the studio’s hardwood.

“I’m fine, really. I was just surprised to, um, see you.  _Here_ _._ Watching,” Yuuri said, and the way he spoke made Viktor inclined to believe him. There was embarrassment clear in his tone, but Viktor couldn’t discern if it was because Viktor had watched Yuuri dance his free skate, or if it was because he had fallen. His rationale favoured the first option. Viktor imagined that Yuuri had more or less been taught  _how_ to fall if he was going to, to prevent serious injury. Yet still, it made Viktor’s stomach twist to consider the possibility of Yuuri injuring himself with his debut on the horizon – and at Viktor’s fault nonetheless.

He eased off of Yuuri and gave him space, though he didn’t move off of the floor, preferring to remain on the hardwood where Yuuri also sat, knees bent and legs drawn lazily towards his chest now.

“This is just some sort of payback for when I startled you on the first day,” Yuuri continued conversationally, almost playful. Viktor found he didn’t quite have the heart to tell Yuuri that he hadn’t fallen down because he was startled - unless being startled by how attractive Yuuri was counted as such.

Viktor laughed and settled more comfortably onto the floor, one leg outstretched beside Yuuri and the other drawn inward, an arm wrapped around his knee. “I didn’t mean to, really. I hope you’re alright,” reiterated Viktor, before he was gesturing at the pointe shoes. “I’ve never seen you train in those before. I thought pointe was mostly for female dancers?”

“It is,” Yuuri confirmed, fingers absently reaching down to brush against the laces around his ankles to secure the shoe. “But they’re good for training. Maintaining muscle, improving your footwork,” he offered as justifiable benefits, before giving a humble shrug. “I also just… like them. They’re nice to break away from all of the other techniques and do something for fun. I don’t get a chance to wear them when working with Yuri, or in training with Lilia since our focus has narrowed with the debut.”

“It’s a shame,” Viktor said sincerely, “That performance was beautiful.”

Something in Yuuri’s expression shifted, flush rising to his face that wasn’t a by-product of the dancing he had just done. He was quiet for a long moment, gaze dodgy before he finally settled his eyes back onto Viktor’s, though the connection wavered now. “It was hardly a  _performance_ – I was mostly just fooling around. We – Lilia and I – translated Yuri’s choreography into floor work to refine it further. After watching you do your program so many times during the on-ice practices, I wondered if I could do the same to yours. It’s hardly perfect – not even all that good of an interpretation. But I was…” Yuuri trailed off slowly, offering no proper end to his sentence.

Viktor felt as though he understood anyway. “You needed a break from what was usual,” he supplied, expression understanding. Yuuri’s brow knit delicately at the sentiment before he nodded in agreement.

“I guess between training for November and trying to help Yuri I’ve gotten a little tired of dancing if you can believe it,” Yuuri admitted with an almost tired laugh, words leaving him as though it was a shock on his tongue. He seemed to resign himself further, sights levelling with Viktor’s. “It’s been months since I just danced because I wanted to do it. I’m sure you get like that with skating too, right? So much to prepare and perfect that you don’t have time to just… Love it anymore.”

Viktor hummed, low in his throat as he too nodded. “More than you know,” he agreed in a quiet tone without thinking. Silence transpired between them before Yuuri spoke up again, resolve on his face.

“I’d like to see you skate for enjoyment too.” The words were simple enough but sent a sort of shock ricocheting through Viktor’s mind. It hadn’t particularly been what he had expected Yuuri to say, asking something like that of him. The request shouldn’t be as hard, as distant to obtain as it felt. But it was, Viktor knew that. He wasn’t sure how long it had been since skating  _was_ enjoyment. Before Vancouver in 2010, he was sure of that – but by how much? Pressure had certainly mounted in his career quickly, even more so when he had a fall to return from.

It was a startling realization to process that perhaps skating hadn’t been for  _pleasure_ since his first Olympics, when he was merely a teenager near the beginning of his senior career. Viktor tried not to dwell on it for long and smiled, “You will in America. And in Moscow.”

Then came a rare moment, the sort of thing Viktor could never quite prepare for nor recover from. Yuuri made a face at him, and in an easy movement extended his leg to press the tip of the pointe shoe into the space between Viktor’s chest and shoulder, giving a little shove. “No,” Yuuri seemed to almost scoff as he shook his head sternly - somehow it was still playful. It didn’t seem as though Yuuri had thought out the action before it happened because he flushed as he spoke. "That isn't what I meant."

He settled rather quickly back into his former position, with both legs tucked to his chest. He wasn’t entirely sure where this little side of Yuuri had been, perhaps lingering in the shadows, but Viktor didn’t mind it in the least. The danseur continued after clearing his throat softly, “That’s... That's competition. I want to see you skate for fun. No judges, no scores – no nailed-down choreography if that’s what it takes. But I know it’d be amazing. You’re a beautiful skater, Viktor. I admire your creativity a lot - obviously, if I’m trying to emulate it,” Yuuri admitted as though he were in a confessional, offering a timid smile.

It was the sort of look that, when paired with the residual flush on his face from before? It could kill a man. Viktor might not complain if that was how he went.

Before he could get wrapped up in that train of thought Yuuri continued speaking, though the sentiment offered was much simpler now, to the point. “It isn’t hard to tell that there’s something missing when you skate. Not when I've been there too, with dance. You don’t have fun anymore, do you? So I would like to see that,” concluded Yuuri, tone falling softer at the end as though he was worried he had somehow offended Viktor. Quite the opposite.

The moment felt a little too intense; too raw. Viktor hadn’t allowed himself to be vulnerable in years, preferring to keep things locked tightly under professionalism and charm. But Yuuri read him as though he were the morning paper, and Viktor felt that there was nowhere to hide from the danseur’s astute observations.

He found that he didn’t  _want_ to hide, more than anything else, however. It was comforting in some way, having a person who understood without being told or asked. Yuuri simply did, without request or preamble.

Instead of running like the rally in his chest willed him to, Viktor smiled and got to his feet, extending a hand towards Yuuri. With two hands secure around Yuuri’s, Viktor helped the other ease upward, flat foot in his satin pointe shoes. Close enough Viktor could almost feel the pull of energy that radiated from Yuuri’s person into the air around them.

“Okay-” Viktor agreed, keeping his hold on Yuuri’s hand for the moment as he searched his face, trying to understand and make sense of whatever spell Yuuri had cast over him in this studio. Warmth from the summer sun spilled through the large windows but Viktor knew that wasn’t what he was feeling radiating through him. It was something different, something he had been ignoring for a while but now more than ever demanded to be heard.

He swallowed hard and tried again. “Okay,” Viktor started, “I would like that. But on one condition.”

Yuuri raised a brow, half in challenge and half in curiosity, voice neighbouring amusement. “Do you really get to demand conditions if you’re returning the favour in the first place? You already saw me dance, Viktor.” Yuuri hadn’t withdrawn his hand from where Viktor still clasped it in two of his own, and found he didn’t want to pull away. The moment was still, tender in the morning quiet of the studio as they studied each other. Taking in features that they never had the leisure of really looking at before with their newfound proximity.

It left Yuuri almost nervous, fidgety still with the prospect of such attention, but Viktor’s laugh and smile had a natural talent of melting such notions away.

It did just that in response to Yuuri’s statement. “Don’t assume things, Yuuri! It isn’t about your dancing. It isn’t a demand either, just a request,” Viktor clarified.

“Which would be?” Yuuri prompted, trying his damnedest to keep his expression level, stomp down that feeling of apprehension twisting in his stomach.

With some of the things Viktor came up with in their conversations, Yuuri wasn’t sure what sort of thing he should be expecting from the older man. This demeanour felt different from the cheerful aura Viktor exuded during their lunches together, in ballet classes or on ventures for coffee. Of course, it was Viktor all the same, but there was an intensity to it, a vulnerability and raw edge, that Yuuri hadn’t been acquainted with yet.

“Go on a date with me,” Viktor said finally, a quiet air of confidence in his tone. Yuuri on the other hand-

Yuuri wasn’t sure if he was still breathing, or still in his  _body_ until he felt Viktor’s hands loosen around his after a brief moment transpired in silence. Viktor didn’t pull away from him still but left a route for escape if things went southward at his request. He continued to speak, regardless of what fears he may have over Yuuri’s response.

“Not just running out for coffee because it’s convenient or lunch because we can squeeze it in. Let’s go out together and do something fun to take our minds off of work and competition and debuts. When we don’t have to rush back here for training and practices. I… I’d like an evening with you where we don’t have to worry about anything. If you’d like that too, Yuuri.”

Yuuri swallowed quietly, trying to find a way to ground himself. He had been convincing himself for weeks now that the perceived flirting was nothing; that Viktor hadn’t been finding excuses to be around him but rather was just focused on professional pursuits. That their hours spent texting after separating for the day was something Viktor did with anyone. Even stretching back so far as April when they had started getting lunch together before the schedule changes, that it had been platonic in intent.

It was hard to wrap his mind around the request when he had been his own worst nightmare in regards to a possible romance between Viktor and himself. This, though, made it incredibly clear what Viktor’s intentions were. No room for misunderstandings, no room for anxieties. No room for his own manic self-doubt to get in the way.

Yuuri adjusted his hand in Viktor’s, and in a moment of bravery locked their fingers together. The movement held a hint of hesitance, but the spur of courage surged through and allowed him to push through. Minimal as it may be, it meant something. It meant something to both of them, without having to say it aloud. Yuuri had no intention of withdrawing with the slack Viktor had left for him to do so. He gave Viktor’s hand faintest of squeezes and nodded his head. His smile beamed bright and clear.

“I would like that a lot, Viktor.”

\--

“Better, Viktor. One more time. From the top of your step sequence, please.” Yakov’s praise carried not through outward exclamation, but through tone as his voice resounded through the empty rink. The edge of patience and politeness in his voice, which felt so seldom present by times, was indicative enough that he was pleased. In turn, Viktor too was pleased. He liked the sessions where they didn’t squabble the best. Yakov could be hard on the head and even worse on the nerves at times, despite being well accustomed to his demeanour by now. If he didn’t like it, he wouldn’t still be here. After a near twenty years spent at Yakov’s side, it seemed unlikely to Viktor he could ever find someone who fit the part better.

He ran the step sequence again as Yakov asked him to, focusing on his movements and the steady rhythm in his head. He was precise, and always had been. But there was something new there in his steps and turns, in the way he accentuated everything just so. A sense of performance that he hadn’t quite reached before.

Yakov had always designed Viktor’s programs with technical standpoint in mind. While Viktor choreographed excellent programs for himself, it wasn’t the creativity alone that had led him on the path to five years as the world champion, and likely soon to be six years as the Grand Prix champion as well. Yakov had long decoded that, to be blunt, a lot of Viktor’s creativity was bluffing. Because he controlled the choreography and theme he could put on a great performance but the backbone behind it, the emotion, occasionally wavered. It wasn’t raw and deep like some other skaters who could be carried by component scores.

As a result, it was always safer for them to rely upon Viktor’s technical skills, unrivalled by anyone. Viktor choreographed a program that he could put weight behind, be able to support and embody for his component score. Yakov tweaked and directed jumps, step sequences and spins to ensure that any possible slack was taken up by the sheer brutality of Viktor’s technical skills. If he had the ability, it seemed a waste not to use them.

But by times, their arrangement tempted fate.

It was the reason Viktor had gone down at twenty-one at the World Championships. A little too hard of a push to up the difficulty. The competition hadn’t been the concern, but Viktor’s pursuit to break his personal best in his free skate had been; Yakov had reluctantly agreed to allow Viktor to move his final quad later into the program – and that had been all it took for five years of momentum built upon gold medals to a screaming halt.

Yakov distinctly remembered the sound of Viktor’s body meeting ice  _hard_ ,sometimes he still couldn’t discern if he had imagined it or actually heard under the music of Viktor’s free skate. He remembered utter panic from medics as they tried to discern whether they needed to get him to a proper hospital or not.  _‘Definitely a_ _concussion-‘_ _,_  one had murmured,  _‘Careful now, his shoulder is out,’_ insisted another. They hadn’t noticed the damage in Viktor’s hip until they got him off the ice.

Sheer horror had filled Yakov as he tried to figure out if this was the end of Viktor’s promising career. He wasn’t particularly young for a skater but not old either; the situation was precarious. There had been absolute chaos from the press, prying into the terrifying moment Viktor went down and everything afterward. Invasive and insensitive in their pursuit for details.

Time wore on and Viktor had recovered, despite the shakiness they all felt after the fall. The injuries hadn’t been a career ender like they had feared. The only remaining physical reminders were occasional use of braces and TENS machines or the permanent additions to Viktor’s inner circle; a physical therapist to maintain the state of aftershocks left by the injuries sustained, and a sports psychologist to keep everything internal as smooth as possible.

There had been no option of competing in the Grand Prix Series for Viktor that year, forced to withdraw due to the timeline of his recovery. But the following season was an option, and Viktor had made it clear to Yakov through determination of steel, he wasn’t going to be missing it. So Yakov pushed Viktor to recover entirely, and then pushed him even harder to come back a stronger competitor than he had been before. It was that strength and determination Viktor Nikiforov skated with now; why Viktor often finished with twenty or thirty points between himself and the competition.

Yakov supposed that was why he was so adamant this year on Viktor’s success, making focus key. Prior to the fall Viktor had been on top of the world, five-years a champion then as he is now. It was the sixth season that would set Viktor apart from who he had been, and the competitor he was now. Yakov also knew that Viktor was critical, of himself more than anyone else. He understood Viktor wouldn’t entirely shed his hesitation, the doubt he held, until he had succeeded where he had been  _before_ the accident.

It was unspoken between them, as many things happened to be. But it was a common goal. If Viktor needed it to be reassured that,  _no_ _,_  things weren’t going to crash down again-

Then Yakov would fight tooth and nail to give that to his top skater, make sure he cinched his sixth consecutive season with grace and ease. Even if that meant cracking down on fraternization between Viktor and pretty Japanese danseurs.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into you,” Yakov started to speak once Viktor had completed the run through, “But you’re excellent today. I don’t think you’ve run the step sequence so cleanly before… Your component score will be considerable this year if you keep that momentum.”

Viktor smiled over at his coach. “You think so?” he asked, and they both knew Viktor wasn’t digging for more praise. What Yakov had expressed so far was more than either was accustomed to. But the improvement at hand warranted it. “I know what’s gotten into me,” Viktor continued in a sing-song after a moment, and Yakov was pretty sure he felt five years knocked off his life at the notion of having to entertain this conversation.

“And what’s that?” His tone was dry now, apprehensive over what the hell Viktor could give him now. He had a feeling –  _always_ had a feeling this season, ever since the World Championships had come to a close and Lilia had brought her assistant along with her from Moscow. Yakov had nothing against the danseur – he saw his benefit clearly in Yuri’s progression.

But this infatuation Viktor had with Yuuri was exhausting. Yakov felt he was constantly trying to micromanage Viktor’s attention to ensure  _he_ was taking this season seriously. Another fall from grace and Yakov was sure Viktor would do himself in mentally as a competitor, particularly with what weight this Grand Prix held.

“I’m in love, Yasha – or, I’m falling in love. As we speak, all the time a little bit more and more,” Viktor announced proudly, hand resting on his chest, the other still holding his water.

There it was, the words that Yakov had been dreading since he watched this idiot fall on his ass on day one, watched him follow the danseur around like a puppy, come late to practices because of their lunch habits. It felt like doomsday at the surface. Somewhere deep down he was happy, that paternal feeling he always harboured towards Viktor kicking in, and yet-

Yakov stifled a groan, and attempted to divert this conversation before it could begin. “I’m not sure how that could be remotely helpful to you, considering love is not your theme for this season.”

“O-ho, but that’s where it gets interesting!” Viktor chirped, and Yakov knew he ought to sit down if Viktor was about to explain  _why_ it was interesting. He may be a bluff about his themes and concepts at times, performing rather than personifying, but Viktor also knew how to chatter your ear off if you gave him the opportunity and, seeing now that he might have actually put some real world thought behind a theme? Yakov would go into retirement before the boy let him rest on the subject.

“Then make like a good artist and keep it to yourself,” Yakov said sternly, holding up a hand. “I don’t need to know why being in love is going to help you understand тоска2. I just need to know if you’re still demanding that awful jump combination in your free program, or if you’ve finally come to your senses now that you’re so enlightened.”

Viktor’s grin was alight. “Now more than  _ever_ I’m doing that jump combination, Yasha. I’ve been practicing it and landing it more often than not. I don’t see why you’re so against me doing it, it’s just going to need a few more tweaks before it’s perfect. You know it would be more of a hindrance than a help to change it so late.”

With a rare laugh, Yakov shook his head. “You’ll give Plisetsky a run or his money this season yet. I had my doubts with your focus a few months ago but it seems you’re coming around.”

“ _I told_   _you_ , it’s because I’m in love. It’s changing everything,” Viktor said in a swoon, leaning against the plastic barrier. Yakov tried to swallow his annoyance because, truly, he didn’t want to know what sort of interaction with the danseur had brought on an even  _thicker_  layer of admiration from Viktor’s side. He merely hoped that Yuuri Katsuki was on the same page as Viktor, or else Yakov would need to figure out how on earth he could deal with two heartbroken skaters at once.

“Right. Hopefully it’s enough to change your transitions in the short program. They’re still much sloppier than they ought to be. Let’s run them again, there’s been enough chatter this afternoon as is.”

“You mean you don’t want to hear about my date? I have a  _date_ _,_  Yakov.” Viktor sounded like a child revealing the secret of a fairy realm. Yakov deadpanned.

“That’s just wonderful, Viktor. I’m thrilled. Proud, even. Now please- since we’re beyond your phase of endless pining and distraction, stop talking and skate.”

Viktor smiled as he pushed off the rink wall and started towards the centre of the ice. As Yakov watched from his own position on the ice he couldn’t deny the renewed sense of spirit in Viktor’s style. It was a tough spot. The focus Viktor had dwindled, but his inspiration seemed higher than it had been in years. Perhaps he had become too accustomed to having Viktor’s sole focus being skating.

Perhaps this would be a good thing on all fronts, but only if Viktor could find a balance between running his mouth about his feelings and actually putting those feelings into his skating in a coherent sense.

Yakov could only cross himself and pray.

\--

“What do you think about this?” Yuuri turned slowly In front of his laptop, before leaning down to look at the screen.

Phichit’s excitement felt so massive that he might as well be sitting in Yuuri’s St Petersburg apartment. Instead, the Thai man was in America still, and merely confined to the screen of Yuuri’s laptop, leaning in far too close as he replied; “I think that you’re thinking way too hard about this.” Not the response that Yuuri wanted, and he slouched in a sense of defeat. “Aww, don’t get discouraged, Yuuri-“

“I’m  _nervous_ _,_  Phichit. I haven’t gone on a date in ages and even then they were…”

“Half-dates because you hardly realized the other person was genuinely interested in you?” Phichit’s voice supplied while Yuuri’s trailed, and Yuuri could only sigh deeply, the sound from the depths of his being.

“You have to admit that at least a few of them were total pity dates,” Yuuri mumbled, sitting down on the edge of his bed and dragging the laptop closer to him. With virtual-Phichit now settled on his lap, Yuuri pushed a hand through his hair. “He’s going to be here soon, and I’m not even ready.”

“I mean, you could be. Five times now, because you’ve shown me five outfits you look  _really_ nice in,” Phichit teased, and Yuuri scoffed and looked away from the computer.

“You know it’s different. You’ve looked at Viktor’s Instagram and… Whatever  _other_ social media stalking you’ve done-“

“Only what was necessary! To ensure your safety and your dignity. Like any good best friend would do,” Phichit interrupted again.

Yuuri rolled his eyes with a lazy little smile and continued. “He always looks really great. Superstar great. He’s always so put together and coordinated, and I don’t want to look slobby next to him. It’s different when we’re coming from training, he knows I don’t bring extra clothes to go to the café or whatever but… Phichit this is a  _date_ -“

“And you’re panicking again, aren’t you?”

“Yep,” Yuuri groaned as he rolled, the laptop shifting from his lap and onto the mattress again as he dragged a pillow over his face. “Maybe I should just call and cancel. I’ll tell him that I’ve come down with something and I’m not feeling well.”

“Yuuri! You said he was coming at seven and it’s already way after six! You can’t call him so soon before he’s supposed to come. Besides, I’m not letting you cancel. You have to go on this date. It will be good for you,” the Thai insisted, only able to clearly look at Yuuri’s legs in the frame of the webcam. “You’ve been talking about Viktor nonstop for nearly four months now, if you don’t go on this date I’m never going to forgive you.”

“Phichit, I appreciate your enthusiasm but it’s more complicated than that.”

“What’s so complicated about it then?”

Yuuri groaned again, quiet for a moment before he dragged the laptop onto his chest and tilted the lid down so his face was in the frame. “I look gross from this angle-“

“I won’t take screenshots. Now explain. What’s complicated about your crush asking you out on a proper date? He sounded really direct about it when you first told me he asked you.”

“He  _was_ direct about it. But- it’s just-“

“You’re Yuuri Katsuki and too busy being in your own head about it?”

“I  _mean_ … You don’t have to put it like that,” Yuuri critiqued with a sour pout, blowing his hair out of his face. Phichit seemed to take notice.

“Are you wearing your hair down or up?”

“Up, I think. It always looks a little better, doesn’t it?”

“You’re cute either way, but if you really want to kick him into high gear about what a hottie you are, and how lucky he is to be  _graced_ by your presence at all-“

“Okay, okay, I get it,” Yuuri laughed, “I’ll go do that in a minute and figure out what I’m wearing- I didn’t think I would need anything really nice in St Petersburg. This would be easier if I owned anything besides training clothes and pullovers.”

“This would be easier if you would have let me take you shopping like I wanted to before you left for Russia.”

“There was no time! Besides, your idea of what’s stylish is way different than mine. I couldn’t pull half of it off,” Yuuri argued, sitting up on the bed and unplugging the laptop before setting across the studio apartment.

The apartment's space was fairly simple, sterile looking because it wasn’t a permanent residence for him by any means. The bed was tucked behind a wall of shelves and a sliding divider near the living room, off to the left of the bedroom. Shelves throughout the apartment were mostly empty, neatly maintained. Yuuri hadn’t brought much with him in way of personal belongings – merely a few photos that he kept close throughout his travels, framed and settled here and there. The kitchen and bathroom were tucked towards the back of the apartment, and a patio led off from the living room space.

Yuuri put the laptop down on the bathroom counter and rifled through the drawer to find what he was looking for.

“You could wear that cute turtleneck you have,” Phichit supplied after a moment of scrolling through his phone – Yuuri wasn’t sure what the Thai was looking for, but he had a feeling it was better he didn’t ask outright. Instead, he focused on working his hair back so it was out of his face.

“The grey one?”

“The dark green one, the baggy one,” Phichit corrected, giving Yuuri a stern look through the fuzzy webcam. “You wear too many neutrals. Put an actual colour on, you look good in everything anyway.”

Yuuri snorted but nodded his head. “Contacts?”

“No, wear your glasses. You’re sophisticated  _and_ sexy with them when you have your hair back,” Phichit flounced over his words dramatically and waggled his brows, resulting in a laugh from Yuuri. Slowly his nervous energy melted away, as the details he had been fretting over seemed to come together slowly. It wasn’t as bad when Phichit was around to guide him through.

“Right, then,” Yuuri said, sliding them back on and carefully brushing a hand through his hair to make sure it was right before he washed the pomade off of them, and picked the laptop up once again. “What do I wear with this? It’s sort of casual, isn’t it?” Yuuri asked as he pulled the once abandoned sweater from where it had landed on his bed earlier on.

“Your black pants – the fitted ones that you wore when we went sightseeing in Toronto. Roll your sleeves up too. And maybe put on a watch. You don’t want to get too dressed up but for good measure, to pull things together. I would say layers but- it’s hot there, isn’t it?”

“Well, it is nearly August,” Yuuri replied as he stripped off the t-shirt he had on, pulling on the turtleneck in its stead. He adjusted the neckline, a little loose but enough room to not be stifled in the warm night weather. He paused for a moment before going to his armoire and digging through to find the pants. “But it is a little late, and we’re probably going to be outside. So it’s not like I’ll die from having a sweater on. Nothing like Thailand in the summer.”

“Hah, you’ve got that right. Though I wasn’t jealous of you in April. It always seemed so freezing!” Phichit laughed, absorbed in his phone again as Yuuri went about getting changed.

“It wasn’t so bad. You’re surviving in New York against all odds,” Yuuri pointed out as he wiggled into the pants, fussed with tucking in the roomy sweater just so, and fixed his belt so everything stayed put. He rolled the sleeves of his sweater up absently, taking his time as he looked himself over in the mirror. Phichit too looked up from his phone and gave a broad smile.

“See? You look really good, Yuuri,” Phichit reassured him with a grin. “Viktor’s a lucky guy.”

“I still feel like I’m the lucky one,” Yuuri laughed, tugging at the clothes nervously before he sat down again. “What if I mess this up?”

“Then you move on,” Phichit said with certainty, smiling into the camera. “But you won’t have to, Yuuri. He really seems to be into you and I know that you’re into him. After hearing you pine about him since April I’m glad there’s some movement in your love life. Took him long enough. And if he’s awful I’ll come beat him up when you visit America.”

“I don’t think  _he_  was interested since April. I’m sure he has plenty of people coming in and out of his love life all the time,” Yuuri said with a huff, but smiled all the same at the camera. “I’m not sure what I’d do without you, Phichit. I wish you were here with me, you know.”

“I know. And you would probably be an even bigger hot mess than you already are but that’s why I love you,” insisted the man on the screen, “I still want to come to Moscow to see your debut but I don’t think it’s going to fit into my schedule. We’re touring a few theatres here. We’re done by your debut. But it’d be a matter of getting on a plane fast enough…

“Don’t worry about it,” Yuuri insisted sincerely, shaking his head. “You should rest after your performances, not be worrying about getting to Russia. You’ll be able to come and see me some other time. Then I can show you around Moscow.”

Phichit laughed. “You better have good locations picked out by the time I get my butt over there. I’m expecting great things from you as a tour guide, Yuuri,” he said, and they fell into a comfortable silence then. It was reminiscent of the time they spent together as roommates in New York; not having to talk constantly, it being enough to just be around each other. Now even with the considerable distance between them, Phichit still in America, it was still comfortable. It was just accompanied with the warmth of a laptop, and the whir of white noise in the back of Phichit’s audio feed.

“I should probably let you go,” Phichit said after some time passed. “Go relax. Try not to worry too much about this. Brush your teeth, and make sure your phone is charged. Text me if you need anything – and call me when you get back! Or, ah, time change. So, if you get back in your  _morning_ -“

“Phichit!” Yuuri cried in interjection, shaking his head as warmth rushed to his face. The man on the other end of the video call merely dissolved into laughter, shaking his head too.

“I’m just teasing. Let me know you made it back alright and tell me how it went. I want to know all of the details so don’t even think about holding out on me,” he insisted.

“I won’t,” Yuuri assured him, nodding, “A full report when I get back in, which will be tonight.”

“Great. But don’t limit yourself. If you both  _want_ _to_ _,_  then-“

“Bye, Phichit!” Yuuri chirped quickly, pushing his glasses up as he rubbed at his eyes to try and keep himself from dissolving into worry at  _that_ notion. He didn’t think he had anything to worry about in that area. It was their first date, and Viktor wouldn’t ask him out with any sort of intent like that, surely. He liked to think that he knew the man well enough to know it would be out of character.

“Bye-bye, Yuuri. Have fun tonight! Good vibes to you!” was all Phichit offered before ending the call between them both. Yuuri watched the call-end screen on his computer before their log of IM messages popped up in its place, and he let out a soft sigh. Closing the laptop, Yuuri took to his feet and went through the remainder of getting ready.

To say he was nervous still was an understatement, but he had at the very least had managed to push away the impending onslaught of anxiety that had been threatening him before his call with Phichit. He had been worried about looking foolish – wearing the wrong thing and giving off the wrong impression. But more than anything he just prayed tonight went okay, that he was able to have a nice night out with Viktor, the sort of date the Russian had requested in the studio.

Things had felt different since the morning Viktor had watched him dance the free skate choreography. Viktor was more open, a little softer, and more natural in his speech and actions. Yuuri, at first, hadn’t been entirely certain of the change, and worried if he had been too forward when talking about Viktor’s skating. But as time wore on he hoped that perhaps he was interpreting it properly when he assumed Viktor was more comfortable with him. More comfortable now that the barrier of performance had been brought down.

They were equal in the sense that the thing they had once loved and were passionate about had become their career, and there were no doubts that such an undertaking was difficult on the joy you felt doing that thing. Yuuri had been able to see some of himself in Viktor’s skating – performing but not quite reaching the core. When he had vocalized that to Viktor he hadn’t meant to offend, and it seemed that maybe it had brought them even closer together than they had been.

Yuuri hoped, anyway, or else his chest would ache after this date.

He was in the midst of brushing his teeth when his phone vibrated with a message. He clamped his teeth awkwardly around the brush as he fumbled to unlock the device.

> **6:57 PM [Viktor** **Nikiforov]** _I'_ _m outside, should I just wait down here?_

Yuuri tapped back a quick reply of  _'Yes, I’ll only be a moment_ _’_ before he spat into the sink and rinsed his mouth out quickly. The rest of his movements were hurried, cologne and deodorant on, checking his hair again for good measure. He hesitated at his coat hook by the doorway of his apartment.

> **7:01 PM [Yuuri]** _Do I need a coat?_
> 
> **7:01 PM [Viktor Nikiforov]** _Co_ _uldn’t hurt to bring something light. It can get a little cold at night._

A fair point, and so Yuuri plucked his spring jacket off of the hook to fold over his arm. He put his keys and wallet into his pocket and started down the stairs of his apartment building to the ground floor, knees a little shaky with nerves, but quick paced not to keep Viktor waiting on him. He pushed the door open and walked out onto the street, looking one way and then the next, before his eyes fell on Viktor, who rested coolly against the wall of the apartment complex.

Yuuri’s heart hammered in his chest as he swallowed quietly, smiled, and crossed the short courtyard from the door to where Viktor leant against the wall. He looked good as always, just that bit more polished than he usually seemed at the rink. Yuuri was instantly thankful that he took the care he had in getting ready; even if Phichit insisted he was overreacting, he now at least might not look foolish in comparison to Viktor, who seemed to be straight off the runway.

The Russian, alerted to his presence now as he came closer, straightened his posture and turned towards Yuuri. He seemed a little taken aback for a moment, and Yuuri wondered if he was annoyed he had taken so long making it downstairs. But the smile that emerged on Viktor's face helped to quell such worries.

“Yuuri! Wow, you look… You look great. Are you ready to go?” Yuuri had to stomp down the warmth on his cheeks, determined not to let himself get flustered so early into their evening. And so, instead, pushed a hand through his hair to keep from fidgeting, and smiled up at Viktor.

“Mhm, sorry to keep you waiting, I hope I wasn’t too long,” Yuuri said politely, before deciding to tag on for good measure, “You look really nice too, Viktor.” Because it was true, and it felt like an injustice to not offer a compliment in return when Viktor had all but stolen the air from his lungs a few moments ago.

But finding himself on the receiving end of Viktor’s breathtaking smile in response to the simple compliment, Yuuri felt as though he had never been regarded with such unadulterated affection before. Yuuri knew then he was definitely going to need Phichit’s good vibes if he was going to survive this date without tripping over himself the entire time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 - The music for Viktor's FS that Yuuri was dancing to is ["E lucevan le stelle"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-GVRoRILVD4) from the opera Tosca, as performed by Jonas Kaufmann.
> 
> 2 - тоска is an "untranslatable" Russian term, most notably defined by Russian novelist Vladimir Nabokov. You can find Nabokov's definition [here.](https://www.goodreads.com/quotes/309633-toska---noun-t--sk---russian-word-roughly-translated-as)
> 
> \--
> 
> every time i mention a turtleneck please know im thinking about narooto's art lol.
> 
> in the next chapter we have a _real_ date! originally i was planning on breaking it up, but i think it will all just be one long chapter.
> 
> as always, thanks so much for reading! feedback is always appreciated. until next time, you can find me on [my tumblr](http://aphhun.tumblr.com) or on [my (underused) twitter!](http://twitter.com/aphhun)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which fingers are cold but hearts are warm (Alternatively, in which we date!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for 10k hits! that's pretty exciting, so thank you for reading. take this long, long date chapter as a celebration!
> 
> beta'd as usual by the wonderful [snow_falls](http://archiveofourown.com/users/snow_falls) who deserves all of the love and recognition for her hard work on this fic. she also has a really lovely otayuri series. if you're into that sort of thing, i totally recommend checking out her verse ["This never happened before"](http://archiveofourown.org/series/639950) because it's quite beautiful!

“So, where are you planning on taking him?”

Viktor made a little face at himself in the mirror, twisting and turning to check himself from various angles and eventually huffing and moving away to change.

“I haven’t entirely decided. Dinner? Then sightseeing, maybe. It’s nice out,” he commented absently, and he paused to set his phone down before unbuttoning his shirt. He should have asked Yuuri where he wanted to go when they had arranged their date in the first place; that would make getting dressed much less stressful. He didn’t want to be overdressed, nor did he want to look underdressed. His effortless sense of style had abandoned him and had been replaced tenfold by nerves. Tonight was important. After mustering the courage to ask Yuuri out a few weeks ago in the studio, and then finally being able to goon that date now that their schedules were less laughable, Viktor wasn’t sure if he could mentally afford for it to go poorly.

He was far too invested in its success already.

In the weeks following their conversation in the studio, Viktor hadn’t been able to see much of Yuuri. Save for a few short conversations before and after Yuri’s ballet lessons, both of them had been thrown further still into their skating and ballet training, respectively. It was annoying but understandable. Viktor had been spoiled by the time they had to waste early on, but as they steadily edged closer to qualifiers, and to Yuuri’s move back to Moscow their time to get lunch and coffee dwindled further down from where it had been earlier in the month.

And so, now that they both had a proper evening to spend together, Viktor might be placing a little more weight on it than usual. He wanted to impress Yuuri and ensure that he had a good time tonight. It was an excuse to relax and distract themselves from the hectic lives they lead.

And, if it was a total dumpster fire of a disaster?

Well, Viktor supposed he could always go back to doing endless cardio and yoga instead of ballet classes with Lilia.

“Don’t stress. This is barely even a first date, you’ve practically been dating him since April. It’s unlike you to not have everything planned down to the last detail,” Christophe mused through the speaker of the phone, and Viktor could see out of the peripherals that currently his friend was trying to figure out why he was looking at the ceiling rather than Viktor. “And to be scrambling to get ready. Just choose something to wear, it isn’t like you own anything you look bad in. Besides-“

“The floral button up, I got it,” Viktor cut him off, and he didn’t miss the wolfish grin from the Swiss on the phone screen.

“It’s not that it’s not flattering – the cut is nice, it makes your waist look slim. It’s just-“

“The colour. I know, Chris. You remind me absolutely every time I ask for your opinion on clothing.” Though calls like this weren’t exactly common. Viktor couldn’t remember the last time he went on a date he was nervous about, and for events, he was more often than not professionally styled. It was easier when you had someone pointing and telling you what to wear. Of course, he retained plenty of that information for himself, but it wasn’t like he could show up to Yuuri’s home in a suit and tie and hope for the best.

“Go and put on that outfit you bought when you last visited me. You know the one. You never wore it for the photoshoot you planned on using it for.”

Viktor let out a short laugh crossed with a sigh, looking away from his phone for a moment. “I guess I am a little frazzled, aren’t I?”

“Only because you’re nervous,” Christophe supplied, cradling his chin in his palm as he leaned closer to his phone’s camera, taking up more of Viktor’s screen. “I want to meet this guy. He’s got you wanting to date  _and_ worried about what to wear. And, he’s not even a skater. You’re becoming a new man, Viktor Nikiforov.”

“That’s sort of been the intention for the last five years,” Viktor replied dryly, flashing a weak smile at the phone before he went back to his closet and sifted through his clothes. For future dates he wouldn’t be so worried – he would be able to just pull a nice suit and wear it, without having to worry about whether or not it would be out of place. But tonight, Christophe was right, and so he pulled the aforementioned outfit from the closet piece by piece, removing tags as he went along.

“You don’t think it’s too formal? What if he wants casual-” Viktor asked, pulling the phone back to level with his face as he walked back into his bedroom from the closet.

Christophe snorted at the question, shaking his head. “It’s only going to be too formal if you plan on taking him to some rundown fast food place. Which, neither of you would want to do unless you want Lilia and Yakov to murder you. It's hardly even dressy, unless you're expecting him to show up in training clothes.”

Viktor wasn't, and so he murmured, “Point taken," before he tossed his phone back down onto the bed and started getting dressed. He ignored but smiled at the playful whining from Christophe over  _‘not getting to watch’_ as he buttoned his shirt and then pulled on his trousers and sat to tie his shoes. “Tonight isn’t about you. Don’t get jealous on me now, Christophe. You were so supportive a few minutes ago.”

“Aww, don’t worry about me. I just like to see what’s different since it’s been a while.” His tone was teasing enough, but Viktor still leant over to shoot a look into the camera, seeing as Christophe was still looking at his ceiling rather than him. “Ooh, how brooding,” commented the Swiss man, before adding. “Let me see the full outfit.”

Viktor decided it was only fair to oblige Christophe on the request, since he had dropped everything he had been doing before to accept Viktor’s impromptu FaceTime request. Viktor paused for a moment before turning the camera around and standing in front of his mirror. He stayed still as he let Christophe appraise his outfit; navy blue trousers and a soft, lightweight white button up. In the end, Viktor decided it was definitely too simple of an outfit to have been worrying about it for so long, but he was merely cautious. Tonight had to be good.

“Undo another button,” Christophe said dismissively, squinting at the camera.

“What? Why-“

“Just do it, trust me. And roll your sleeves. You look like you’re ready for a business meeting but you forgot your tie. Unbutton one more. You have nice collarbones anyway.”

Did people compliment collarbones often? Viktor didn’t linger on the thought too long.

“Better?”

“Immensely. Now if you’re done stressing over what you have to wear tonight, I need to get going.”

“Date night for you too?”

“ _Mmm._ Have fun tonight, Viktor. I’m happy for you. I better get to meet this boy sometime. Don’t forget to play safe!” Christophe chimed, before sending a wink to the camera and ending the call. Viktor studied the screen for a moment before letting out a soft sigh and sliding his phone into his back pocket and looking at the mirror one more time.

Christophe had been right. One more button did make a difference.

\--

He had definitely arrived at Yuuri’s apartment too early, having left his own a little sooner than anticipated. He had been too nervous waiting around for the time to roll by and so Viktor had started the walk before he really needed to. Which, resulted in him arriving nearly ten minutes early. He wasn’t overly familiar with Yuuri’s neighbourhood, but it seemed nice enough and so he took to resting against the wall outside of the apartment complex rather than telling Yuuri he had come too early.

The intent was to play it cool, and texting Yuuri that he was here ten minutes early wasn’t that. And so, Viktor watched the time until sending his text to Yuuri at 6:57 – late enough that it was coincidental he arrived early, but not so late that he seemed to have been careless. The rational part of Viktor’s mind knew that it absolutely wouldn’t make a difference if he texted now or at 7:00, but it felt substantially better. He would be casual.

After a few short messages sent back and forth Yuuri’s side of the conversation went quiet and he had to assume that it was because he was on his way downstairs. Nervousness and anticipation settled in Viktor’s stomach again, eager to officially start their date. He hoped he hadn’t over or underdressed. And he hoped that Yuuri was as excited as he was. And that he didn’t mind if Viktor’s hadn’t planned everything down to the detail. He had vague ideas of what to do, but planning everything had seemed risky, in case he picked something Yuuri didn’t want to do, and-

Ah, he heard Yuuri crossing the courtyard before he could see him, the damn wall in the way. Viktor steeled his nerves, let out a quiet, slow breath to calm himself, before trying to decide if he looked too pose-y leaning up against the wall. Before he could really decide Yuuri came into his sights and he found himself whirling around to see him, rather than the cool greeting he had been planning on.

“Yuuri! Wow, you look…” How did he put it simply? Adorable, the most handsome man to ever grace the earth, so put together and charming that Viktor wasn’t sure if his brain was ever going to function again, not to mention  _cute_ and also, his hair pushed back so effortlessly? Sexy as hell. There were a lot of thoughts, compliments, and adjectives that flooded Viktor’s mind as he took in Yuuri, chic in his oversized sweater and tailored pants. It was one of the moments where Viktor wondered how it was legal for Yuuri Katsuki to have the power he did.

Instead of vocalizing any of this, Viktor stopped gaping like a fish and said, “You look great. Are you ready to go?” It was the understatement of the century, to say the least.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, I hope I wasn’t too long,” Yuuri said to him, tone dripping in manners but Viktor hardly registered that he had been waiting on Yuuri for longer than a few moments – not to mention the time he had been here prior. None of that really seemed relevant right now. “You look nice too, Viktor,” Yuuri said after a brief pause, and Viktor couldn’t stop his face from breaking out into a large, eager smile. Perhaps the time he had spent fussing over his clothes had been worth it. He had opted to put on a light jacket since a chill had settled into the otherwise warm evening, but he was sure he would appreciate it later in the night. A quick glance at Yuuri’s arm showed that he had followed Viktor’s advice too.

“Great!” Viktor said, and he gestured for Yuuri to follow as he started to walk, keeping his pace fairly slow. “I didn’t really plan much – I wasn’t sure what you would want to do tonight,” he started to explain, thinking it best to be clear from the beginning. Viktor also knew that if Yuuri wanted him to plan something, he could likely do so in the span of a few minutes, the time it would take them to walk to a restaurant. He continued to speak, looking over at the shorter man. “But I was thinking dinner and maybe then some sightseeing? I know you’re more used to St Petersburg now though, so it might not be as exciting-“

“I would really like that,” Yuuri interrupted, uncharacteristic for him, though Viktor wondered if he had been able to sense the tangent of rambling Viktor had been about to embark upon on the basis of nervousness. “I’ve never had a chance to see some of the more iconic spots in the city, since whenever I’m free it’s usually really busy and I don’t love crowds,” admitted the danseur, continuing to speak as they walked along. “So after dinner, it would probably be pretty clear, right?”

“Of course, yes! I don’t think there will be a lot of people out sightseeing tonight. At bars and clubs maybe, but we could go for a walk. Things won’t be open but a lot of the sights are outside anyway – then maybe some other time we could go on the tours if you wanted to see things like that too,” Viktor offered excitedly, nodding as they went along. He was thankful that Yuuri seemed to glaze over the off-hand mention of doing something like this again. Viktor hadn’t necessarily meant to insinuate such a thing so early on but he supposed, in his defense, even if this was somehow awkward and horrible, they could still be  _friends_ and go do those things. It would just be with undertones of heartbreak instead.

The walk to dinner ended up being rather uneventful; Viktor had anticipated this much, but they chattered back and forth about how their day had been. Yuri had a rest from ballet training today and so Viktor hadn’t had any excuse to break from his own training to see Yuuri, so the chance to catch up was nice, though it was standard for both of them. Yuuri had spent hours on end training with Lilia before being released from her control – had called his parents in Japan to update them on his week, and to see how they were, which had taken up the majority of his day. Viktor worked through his typical schedule of training, uneventfully bought groceries, and took Makkachin for a walk before getting ready for their date.

That, however, seemed to catch Yuuri’s attention.

“I didn’t know that you had a dog,” Yuuri lamented, tone unusually dramatic as he turned to look at Viktor. The streets weren’t too full despite it being the beginning of the weekend, but Viktor wouldn’t complain. The illusion of privacy was nice.

“Have I really never mentioned him?” Viktor asked, before letting out a soft laugh and rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ve had him for  _years_ – Makkachin. He’s old, but very sweet, a good companion. What’s the saying in English?”

“’Dogs are man’s best friend’, or something along those lines, isn’t it?” Yuuri suggested with a little smile, hands in his pockets as they walked along. He pressed forward on the topic of Makkachin, seemingly intrigued by the new discovery. “What kind of dog is Makkachin?”

“He’s a standard poodle,” Viktor supplied, in the process of pulling out his phone to show Yuuri a photo of the dog – he wondered why they had never bridged the gap of following each other on Instagram – when Yuuri gasped. Actually gasped, and Viktor wasn’t sure there was a cuter sound in the universe.

“I have a standard poodle too!” Yuuri exclaimed, nearly halting on the sidewalk before he seemed to realize it, and quickened his pace to fall into step with Viktor again. “How did we never talk about them before? I feel like such a horrible dog-dad now, having never mentioned Vicchan to you-“

“Vicchan?” Viktor asked curiously, trying to press down the urge to weep over the sentiment of Yuuri being a dad to his poodle. They were too similar, and it made Viktor’s chest tighten in the most glorious way, but he focused instead on the name. He knew the dog existed, had seen photos of the pooch and Yuuri during the time he had spent researching on Yuuri’s social media accounts. But he had never really taken notice of the poodle’s name. “I have the same name as your dog?” Viktor asked him, blinking in surprise over that fact.

Yuuri laughed. “Oh- I never really put that together, but I guess, sort of? My sister actually named him even though he’s ‘mine’,” Yuuri explained, putting air-quotes around his words as he spoke, “But I couldn’t think of something that I liked and after a week we  _really_  needed something to call him. So my sister, Mari, called him  _Vicchan_  after some member of a boy band she liked at the time.”

“How tragic,” Viktor whined after a moment, looking over to Yuuri with mournful eyes. It seemed to take Yuuri by surprise, floundering in confusion as to what about a  _poodle_ could be tragic, before Viktor elaborated. “I’ll never be the number one Viktor in your life.”

Yuuri let out a groan and smiled over at Viktor, nudging the taller man with his elbow. “It’s  _Vicchan,_ not Viktor.”

“Still, it’s very close! First I have to compete to be the best skater in your eyes, and now the best Viktor. How am I supposed to compare to a  _poodle,_ Yuuri? I’m doomed,”Viktor said, looking over to Yuuri. He couldn’t fight off the foolishly large smile on his lips despite his own theatrics. Smiling over at Yuuri seemed more important than maintaining his performance in that moment, and so that was what he did.

“I dunno,” Yuuri replied, tone bathed in nonchalance. “You’re sort of like a dog in a good way. Goofy, fun-“

“Cute?” Viktor supplied with a hopeful grin, and the playful look he received from Yuuri hopefully confirmed that no, that wasn’t obnoxiously digging for compliments. Yuuri let out a long sigh.

“ _I mean…”_ started the shorter man dramatically, and Viktor was already gasping and clutching his hands to his chest, whirling to face Yuuri. The doors of the restaurant were visible now, and so the rush to get there had died down. There was always time for theatrics.

“What  _do_ you mean? Are you saying I’m not?” Viktor teased, trying to edge out the actual curiosity with a thick coat of melodramatics. He had never seen Yuuri so relaxed around this sort of subject, bantering back and forth. Perhaps now that they were alone, and out of professional territory altogether, it was more likely to draw out Yuuri’s flirtations. Viktor could pray, anyway.

Yuuri laughed and paused on the sidewalk, stepping to the side in case they were in the way. He seemed to hesitate on his words for a moment before clearing his throat. “I would say you’re a different sort of cute than Vicchan is,” Yuuri supplied, and before Viktor could dig about what that meant, and did it mean what he thought it meant, Yuuri was grabbing his wrist delicately. “Now come on, I’m hungry and I think that’s the restaurant up ahead.”

Viktor, still reeling in his own thoughts and now the added internal screaming over Yuuri touching him so casually – he was still getting used to the danseur initiating any contact – could only dumbly nod and smile as he let Yuuri tug him along before he ultimately let go of Viktor once they were walking again.

Viktor tried not to get ahead of himself. Cute was cute, and he didn’t want to push his luck. But Viktor hadn’t missed the way Yuuri’s face had warmed when they started to walk again or the way Yuuri’s fingertips had lingered on his wrist before pulling his hand away.

They hadn’t even sat down for dinner yet and he was already this far gone, nearly a puddle in his shoes because of Yuuri Katsuki just _existing._

Viktor could say with absolute confidence that he would be an embarrassing, swooning mess by the time he returned to his apartment tonight - if he managed to not die by way of overwhelming affection and thirst for Yuuri before he made it back home, to begin with. When he peeked over at Yuuri’s excited, pleasant expression as he chattered on about Vicchan, it seemed a very likely outcome for the evening’s course of events.

Maybe they could take Vicchan and Makkachin on walks together in the future. That was a habit Viktor would be happy to form with Yuuri.

\--

Dinner was easy, comfortable and quiet. With a day of work behind them, both men were eager to sit and have a proper meal, one that challenged the constraints of their respective diets as well. Good Japanese cuisine was apparently hard to come by in St Petersburg, as Yuuri revealed and Viktor wasn’t about to argue him on the point. But Yuuri had been the one who suggested the restaurant after breezing through Google on his phone during the beginning of their walk, and Viktor had been pleased to hear from the man that the food was quite good in comparison to most.

“Not totally authentic,” Yuuri said over dessert, which Viktor had pressed the importance of ordering as this was a night off from thinking about their responsibilities. “But really good – my sister would like this sort of thing.”

“You sound like you’re quite close to your family,” Viktor commented, unable to deny his curiosity. Over the course of their meal chatter had been light enough, shying away from work as stipulated, but Viktor still wondered about Yuuri’s more private life. “Do you go to visit them often?”

“Hah,” Yuuri let out a short sigh and shook his head, “No. I really should, but I don’t think I’ve been home in… God, I guess five years now? Not since I left for New York when I was eighteen.”

“But you keep in contact,” Viktor reasoned, prying for a little more information. Yuuri didn’t seem to mind obliging him, waiting until he swallowed before speaking again.

“I call them at least once a week. Or, well, that’s habit. I try my best to keep up with it but they understand if it goes to the wayside, what with my schedule, their schedule, and the time change. We’re  _all_ busy people, so it’s hard to find a good time sometimes.”

“Right. They own a hot springs?”

“Oh, yes – I must have mentioned that to you before. I didn’t figure you’d remember that sort of thing,” Yuuri mused thoughtfully, a little smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Viktor did his best not to get wrapped up in that expression, but couldn’t stop himself from leaning forward on the table just slightly, inclined towards the other man. “Running the onsen takes up most of their time since it’s home too. Hard to balance work and home when your work ishome,” Yuuri continued, getting a little tangled in his words but Viktor understood the sentiment all the same.

“I’m sure it would take discipline. I would just want to soak in the hot springs all day,” Viktor laughed, before taking some food from the plate between them. “I’ve never been to one, you know. A real one. There are spas and things that I’ve gone to but nothing like a natural hot spring.”

“You haven’t lived then,” Yuuri laughed, the quiet sound of it melodic as it carried across the table. “I miss that most sometimes. I love my family, but I can call them. The closest I can get to the onsen is a bathtub and it’s just…”

“Not the same?”

“Not even close,” Yuuri confirmed, seeming to let the topic slide. Feeling it was exhausted, Viktor did too. Instead, Yuuri began speaking again. “I was planning on going back to Japan next year to see them. Between tours with the company. Now that I’m here it feels a little easier to get home. Travelling out of America always felt like a pain, I didn’t even want to try. When I first arrived my English wasn't great, and then once i was less intimidated my schedule was too busy. And the flight time...”

“It’s not so bad from Russia. I’ve done the flight plenty of times for work, it’s hardly even something to bat an eye at once you've made it a few times.”

“Almost too bad that Yuri wasn’t placed in Japan. The event is pretty far from Hasetsu, I saw Mila looking at the details the other day - she was asking about restaurants and things to do in downtime. But it’d have been nice. Worth it to get on the train for a few hours and head home.” Yuuri mused.

“Do you miss it there?” Viktor asked, trying to read the tone of Yuuri’s voice. It wasn’t sad, maybe a little whimsical. But if he was homesick he covered it well. After five years away, Viktor wouldn’t be surprised if Yuuri’s concept of ‘home’ was a little skewed.

“Oh, definitely. It’s a really charming place. Sort of like a city made of little towns, if that makes sense. It doesn’t feel like a metropolis despite how big it is. At least, it didn’t last I was there,” Yuuri commented, settling more comfortably into his seat, dessert abandoned now. “I liked New York for the change of pace, and the same for Moscow and St Petersburg – I’m always grateful for the opportunities I have, but…”

“They’re not  _home,_ ” Viktor supplied, keeping his gaze steadily on Yuuri. He seemed to consider it for a long moment before he offered up a faint smile.

“No. But they could be eventually.”

\--

Viktor had to all but wrestle the bill out of Yuuri’s hands when it had arrived at their table. He was sure that, if Yuuri had been more like Yuri who wouldn’t  _care_ about causing a scene in public, it would have resulted in a very real struggle to pay for their meal first. But because Yuuri was more polite, with better social tact and manners (and generally, disliked drawing more attention than necessary), Viktor had been able to pay without it turning into full blown combat.

When they were outside the restaurant Yuuri had let out a soft huff and shook his head, insisting quietly still, “You should have let me pay for it. I chose the restaurant.”

“Ah, but I asked you out,” Viktor countered with ease, giving Yuuri a soft nudge with his elbow as they started to walk along the sidewalks again. Viktor knew that a portion of Yuuri’s insistence on wanting to pay had come with the price on the bill – between their entrées, dinner, dessert and drinks, it hadn’t been anything that would break the bank but certainly more than paying for a coffee here and there. Viktor hadn’t batted an eye at it, used to this and more depending on the company he found himself in. But Yuuri had seemed distraught over being treated. Viktor had long noticed that Yuuri was conscientious about his finances, in little mannerisms and habits that were long ingrained Viktor was sure, but tonight had merely made it more evident that their treatment of money was quite different.

Regardless, Viktor was satisfied being able to treat Yuuri to something different because it was just that – a treat.

“If you’re really that worried about it,” Viktor started after walking in silence for a while, streetlamps illuminating the path they made towards some of the more scenic areas of the city, “Then you can pay next time, maybe. If you beat me to the bill,” continued the Russian casually, a little grin working its way onto his lips as he kept his eyes trained ahead.

“Next time, hm?” Yuuri commented. Viktor was relieved to hear that he certainly didn’t sound displeased at a notion, but there was that teasing edge to Yuuri’s voice again that Viktor had become so wrapped up in over the course of the evening. With a little glance sideways, Viktor could see the corners of Yuuri’s lips tugging upward at the notion, and the warmth it sent shooting through Viktor rivalled that of a sunny afternoon.

“Of course next time,” Viktor said, steering Yuuri along into Palace Square, a glow in the night. Only a few tourists seemed to be bustling about, certainly nothing compared to the crowds that could be drawn throughout the daytime. “I want to meet Vicchan. After hearing about him I need to see what my competition is like too.”

“I really don’t think my dog is your competition, Viktor,” Yuuri blurted with a dry laugh, shaking his head at the notion as they walked along together. “But I think that would be nice. I want to meet Makkachin too, and I bet Vicchan would love to have another dog around too instead of just me for company.”

Viktor smiled when Yuuri accepted the little advance. At the knowledge he would want to do something like this again, he was emboldened enough to slide his hand into Yuuri’s. He kept his hold loose, much like he had when asking if Yuuri would go on a date with him in the first place. But the danseur peeked over at him with a flush to his cheeks, warm in the glowing lights of palace square at night, and laced their fingers together delicately. Viktor tried to be subtle about the quiet breath of relief he let out and gave Yuuri’s hand a squeeze.

What a success story this would be. He would tell his grandkids about that someday. Probably.

“What about your family?” Yuuri asked out of the blue as they continued walking, crossing over the Pevchesky Bridge. Viktor nearly faltered, trying to catch up with where the question would have come from, but he supposed that perhaps it had been bubbling in Yuuri’s mind since the restaurant, before they had argued over the bill.

Viktor withheld the urge to pull his hand away from Yuuri’s, though he was sure his hand had gotten a little sweaty at the subject and he doubted it was very alluring. He could have blamed it on the weather, if the night wasn’t so cool for summer. “My family?” Viktor repeated back, as though he hadn’t heard, buying himself a moment to find the right response. He tilted his head back and forth in deliberation before shrugging. “We aren’t close.”

“Oh,” Yuuri said softly, the short sentiment full of understanding all the same. Viktor cleared his throat quietly, wondering if the blunt reply had been too dismissive.

“You can ask about them if you want. I don’t mind talking, we’re just… A little dysfunctional,” Viktor laughed, trying to keep things as casual as could be. He would rather not send Yuuri withdrawing back into his shell after he had been so forward tonight. Viktor liked that Yuuri seemed more comfortable with him than he had ever been before. And so, if talking about his oddity of a family was what that  _took,_ Viktor didn’t particularly mind. It wasn't the worst topic Viktor could possibly think of to talk about.

“Okay,” Yuuri said, tone still a little more cautious than it had been before, but he continued to speak. “You said that you lived with Yakov and Lilia for a while, right?” he asked looking over at Viktor as they walked alongside the Moyka River.

“When I was fourteen, if I remember right,” Viktor said, nodding while he spoke. “My father’s a businessman, and ended up getting a transfer job out of Russia. I was already competing in the junior division with Yakov as my coach, and I wanted to keep training under him instead of trying to find someone new in France. It probably would have been a career ender if I had, in retrospect.”

“And your parents were just… fine with you staying in Russia with Yakov?” Yuuri asked, as though such a notion was outlandish and Viktor supposed that maybe it was, without context.

“My mother is friends with the Baranovskis, coincidentally. It was less a subject of me staying with Yakov as I was staying with Lilia, in their eyes. They liked Yakov too – that was partially how I ended up becoming his student. I spent more time with him than I did them for a long time, so it was almost a natural sort of shift.”

“How long did you stay with them?”

“Longer than planned. My father’s transfer was only supposed to be for two years but he ended up taking a longer term there. So I stayed with Yakov until I was nineteen. So, about five years. He and Lilia divorced when I was seventeen, so for two years it was just Yakov and me.”

“Right,” Yuuri nodded, appearing to concentrate as though he were committing all of the little facts to memory, and in a way, Viktor appreciated it. He often avoided the subject of his parents seeing as they weren’t particularly relevant to him. There were a few hard feelings harboured over the years, but nothing detrimental. To have Yuuri treat it with care felt like the quiet validation he hadn't been sure he needed to begin with. “Do you see them? Or I guess, you said you aren’t close,” Yuuri offered, and Viktor nodded along.

“Not often. They come back to St Petersburg every so often to see old friends, and we try to get dinner if we can manage it. But it’s never a particularly prolonged experience. And we call a few times a year, maybe.”

“That’s so strange,” Yuuri blurted out, before he seemed to catch himself and amended quickly, “A-ah, not to be rude about it, of course! It’s just, I can’t imagine that. Not living with my parents when I was hardly even a teenager, and then never talking to them either, or seeing them. I guess I’m more attached than I thought.”

“That’s a good thing,” Viktor told Yuuri, offering a smile. “I’m very close to Yakov. He’s more of a parent than mine have ever been and I’m happy with that. I like his sort of person more than my actual parents. They’re more, just… Estranged forced-friends that float in and out every so often. But I like my little makeshift family. Yakov, Makkachin, the people from the rink.”

“I suppose so,” Yuuri mused quietly, adjusting his hand in Viktor’s so it was more comfortable. He seemed absorbed in his thoughts for the moment and so Viktor allowed him to mull over the new information. He wondered if Yuuri found it odd – wondered if Yuuri thought it made them too different. Viktor was family oriented, at least he considered himself to be such. But he knew, in the same breath, his family was unconventional. He  _wanted_ a family, and so he had made one. But he wasn’t close to his own like Yuuri was to his, despite the distance.

“What are they like?” Yuuri asked after a moment, interrupting the easy silence they had slipped into. Viktor hummed at the question, a tinge of amusement in his expression as he considered it, trying to find the most eloquent way to put it.

“Олигарх?”1 Viktor suggested in Russian first, before making a bit of a face when it registered Yuuri wasn’t sure what that word meant, trying to find the words he needed. “Flashy, indulgent sort of people. They like expensive things because they’re expensive, and they like other people to know it’s expensive. Which, is fine. I mean, at least I always thought so, since I grew up around that for a long time, and Lilia is very much the same – old money, though I’m sure you knew _that.”_

“I had a feeling. I’ve seen her house,” Yuuri laughed quietly before nodding for Viktor to continue.

“My father is a little more subtle than my mother, but I think it’s easier for him to be. I always thought he was very boring, our interests definitely don’t line up. My mother is certainly more… Snobbish, but at the same time very fun to be around. Ditzy. She likes to go to parties and things like that, or explore and sightsee when travelling. So, I suppose I’m more like her. She taught me to skate, too, in the beginning. Just basics, but she was the one who dragged me to a skating rink.”

“And now here you are, top men’s figure skater, among the most decorated in history,” Yuuri teased playfully, humming as they walked closer to the large Cathedral. It was a little more populated here, busier than it had been near palace square, but Yuuri steeled himself and didn’t tug his hand away from Viktor’s. He wasn’t particularly one for being very public, but he couldn’t bring himself to let go.

“Here I am,” Viktor mused thoughtfully, scanning the streets ahead of them for a moment as he squeezed Yuuri’s hand lightly. When he spoke again, his tone was riddled with quiet nostalgia “In the winter, the Neva River here in St Petersburg freezes over. I remember going skating there with my parents a lot when I was young. From the time I was… Seven, maybe, onward. I haven’t gone skating there in a long time, more out of self-preservation than anything, but it was always fun. Rivers are different than rinks. It’s special.”

“I can’t say I know the difference,” Yuuri admitted, the little laugh he let out almost sheepish as he continued. “It’s almost  _bad_ when I say it out loud, considering what I’ve been doing since April with Yuri, but I’ve never been skating.”

Wait.

“ _What?”_ Viktor stopped in his tracks as he whirled to face Yuuri with a near shout in surprise, probably a little too loud for the public setting. But, of the people that milled about outside, only a few turned to glance in their direction and even fewer cared enough to look longer than a brief second. “Never?”

“Um,” Yuuri shuffled a little awkwardly as he came to a stop in front of Viktor too, studying the bewildered expression. Maybe he hadn’t considered just how out-there something like that would seem to Viktor. “ _Maybe_ once? When I was ten – but it wouldn’t have been anything more than Yuuko trying to drag me around the ice before I managed to escape. But I’ve never actually gone skating. I, ah... don’t know how?”

Viktor watched Yuuri in disbelief for a moment, eyes searching his face for some sort of indication that this was a joke. It  _had_ to be a joke. But Yuuri’s expression maintained the same hesitant honesty, and Viktor knew that maybe it was presumptuous to believe every person he’d ever spoken to had also learned to skate at a young age.

Viktor’s gaze shifted from Yuuri’s face for a moment, over the man’s head to the cityscape behind him, before Viktor pursed his lips and Yuuri found himself wondering for a moment  _‘is that some sort of deal breaker?’_. Then Viktor was looking back at him, gaze intense and a smile back on his face.

There was hardly enough time to process the expression before Yuuri was being tugged along by Viktor, energy renewed entirely as he led Yuuri along the sidewalks of St Petersburg under nightfall. “Viktor- _Viktor!_ What- where are we going?”

“I know exactly where we’re going next, Yuuri! Just trust me, this will be fun!”

Yuuri tried not to dwell on how those were typically famous last words.

\--

“Viktor, we really shouldn’t – we could get in trouble-“

“Shhh, don’t worry about it. No one is going to get me in trouble.”

“You’re not  _that_ untouchable, Viktor.”

“But I am charming, and I have keys for a reason!” Viktor said, letting them jingle as he dangled them to prove his point. He was immensely pleased that he had decided to add them to his set for added convenience. After arriving a few times to realize he had forgotten them at his apartment, the keys he had been given to Yubileyny Sports Palace now had a constant home, tucked into his wallet.

“Yes, keys for  _emergencies_ -“

“This is one! Yuuri, you’re twenty-three?” A nod. “Twenty-three and you’ve never ice skated properly before  _and_ you’re assisting in the training for a world-known figure skater for his debut!”

“I’m his ballet instructor’s assistant,” Yuuri protested lamely, awkwardly hovering near Viktor’s arm as he produced the keys for the side door to the sports complex. In a fluid motion, Viktor unlocked the door and pushed it open, gesturing for Yuuri to step inside first. It was colder inside than it was outside, significantly so, and in that moment Yuuri was thankful he had opted to wear a sweater  _and_ bring his coat.

“I think it will benefit you to know how it all works. Besides, I’ll be your teacher. Your coach!” Viktor boasted proudly, pulling the door closed behind him and locking it from the inside. It was dark, only dim lights over the rink offering some guidance from where they stood, tucked behind where the bleachers were, a walkway around the main ice area. Viktor put his hand on the dip of Yuuri’s back and guided him along with care.

“As for getting in trouble, they’re used to me coming in at weird times. They don’t  _like_ it, and I’m not supposed to, but they’re not going to say anything about it. They’ll just grumble that they have to flood the ice again in the morning if we make a mess,” Viktor rambled on, hoping that it might quell some of Yuuri’s nerves over this. Viktor had realized long ago that Yuuri was a stickler for rules and regulations, and Viktor was too – he found comfort in them. But seeing as his goal tonight was to make things fun and memorable for Yuuri, he couldn’t help but use the bit of sway he had to do something unconventional.

And really, what sort of man had never skated before at Yuuri’s age? Viktor still couldn’t wrap his mind around it entirely.

“Wait here, I’m going to go find skates. They have them somewhere…”

Viktor wasn’t really accustomed to having to locate rental skates for anyone, to say the least. He hadn’t worn a pair in his life, let alone needed them recently, but thankfully his mental map of Yubileyny was as reliable as he thought it would be. The blades were decently sharp, though not as finely tuned as his own standards. He pulled a pair that would fit him, and then a few for Yuuri before making his way back to where he had left Yuuri – his  _date_ Yuuri – waiting on the bleachers.

“Viktor!” Yuuri near yelped in surprise as Viktor came back to him, the typically lowered voice carrying over the rink and echoing in the quiet. “You took way too many – we’re going to make a mess of things in here-“

“I’ll put them all back! I just wasn’t sure what size was going to fit you so I took a couple.” Maybe it was overkill, Viktor realized, as he unceremoniously set down three sets of skates nearby Yuuri, sorting them back into pairs and putting the set he had taken for himself aside. “Start trying them on to see what boot fits you. Once you do I’ll take the others back and then I’ll help you lace them.”

“I can lace them, I’m sure.”

“I don’t want you to get hurt. If they’re not tight enough it’s a recipe for disaster. Tooth through lip, age seven,” Viktor laughed, sitting down beside Yuuri and, when the Japanese man only stared at him in disbelief for a moment longer, Viktor gestured to the skates. “The longer you take to put them on, the longer we’re technically trespassing.”

That seemed to be enough to inspire Yuuri into motion, he slipped off his shoes and tucked them aside neatly. It took only a few moments to decide which was going to be the closest fit, and when Yuuri had decided Viktor took the other pairs back to the storage room and into their rightful place. When he returned Yuuri had, to his pleasure, refrained from attempting the laces himself. Viktor knelt down on the concrete before him and tugged at Yuuri’s foot until it was in the position he wanted, checking that the boot was comfortable, and started to lace up the skates with care.

“Are you nervous?” Viktor asked curiously as he moved onto the second skate, adjusting the boot before tightly lacing them, peeking up at Yuuri for any sign that it was too tight. But without protest, Yuuri allowed Viktor to lace up the boot of the skates and quietly watched.

“Sort of?” Yuuri replied, seeming uncertain. “I mean, not really about actually skating- I know I’m not going to be good at it, and I’ll probably be as graceful as a baby deer trying to walk for the first time. So that’s not really an issue.”

“Then what is?” Viktor asked, amusement written over his features as he pulled back to look at Yuuri’s skates before he moved to sit on the bench beside the danseur, and started to lace his own skates from the storage closet. The fit of the boot was wrong, not made for his feet like all of his skates had been for years – awkwardly crafted for a generic consumer and a little bulky for his liking.

“Maybe the fact  _you’re_ going to teach me how to skate,” Yuuri laughed as if that should have been obvious, and Viktor couldn’t decide if it should have been or not. But he looked over to Yuuri with raised brows, tugging at the laces until they were tight enough to compensate for the poor quality boot.

“You shouldn’t be nervous about me,” Viktor insisted with a charming smile, “When I was twenty-three Yakov had me teaching some beginners at a summer training camp you know, I’m quite good at teaching despite what everyone says-“

“I’m not worried about your teaching,” Yuuri corrected, shaking his head as he looked from Viktor to the ice, fiddling with the sleeves of his sweater which he had since tugged down from where they had been folded to his elbow. It was too chilly in here for that while they were just sitting around. “It’s more, you’re the top figure skater there is and I’ve never skated before in my life, and somehow I’m going to try and go out there on our date and not embarrass myself beyond belief to the point I have to go scrambling back to New York-“

“Hey, hey,” Viktor laughed, taking to his feet now with both skates laced. He tried his balance in them, easily finding his centre, before extending his hand to Yuuri again. Similarly to how they had been in the studio Viktor gently tugged and helped Yuuri to his feet, and when Yuuri seemed to wobble marginally on the skates, Viktor moved his hand to Yuuri’s side to steady him. “I’m not going to laugh if you’re bad at it. I’m not expecting you to get out there and do a flawless pair skate with me or something. But I want to share this with you. You wanted to see me skate for fun, right?”

“Absolutely,” Yuuri said, tone almost a little breathless and Viktor smiled bigger than he had thought he even could at the trusting look on Yuuri’s face.

“Then don’t worry about it. This is going to be fun for me because you’re here trying it with me. I’ve got you.”

Viktor squeezed Yuuri’s hand in his own, quiet for a moment as Yuuri seemed to absorb the reassurance. There was give and take, Viktor had realized, when it came to moments like this with Yuuri. Unless they were clearly joking around, Yuuri needed a little time to let this process, settle into his mind and decide exactly what the sentiment was behind it. Viktor didn’t mind waiting because Yuuri smiled softly after a moment and nodded his head. “Okay,” he said, fingers laced together with Viktor’s, “Okay. Now get me on the ice before I change my mind.”

“Yes sir,” Viktor said playfully, letting go of Yuuri’s hand and sliding his grasp to Yuuri’s back to guide him to the entry of the ice rink. Viktor stepped around Yuuri carefully so as to not bump him, and stepped onto the ice backward, testing the slide of the borrow skates before reaching out again. Yuuri obliged, gripping onto Viktor’s hands tightly – more purpose in his grasp now than seeking comfort and connection. Viktor liked it just as much, the sense of responsibility for Yuuri’s safety as he ventured out.

“Now, make sure you don’t stiffen up when you get onto the ice,” Viktor advised softly, eyes fixed on Yuuri’s nervous gaze before he dropped his sights to Yuuri’s feet. He wasn’t wobbly kneed anymore, having adjusted to the feel of the skates, and that was progress. Viktor hadn’t assumed that the danseur, who could balance all of his weight and near float on the tips of his toes, wouldn’t have much trouble with such a task. “And don’t worry, if you slip I’ll catch you, Yuuri. Just try and get a feel for the ice first.”

Yuuri didn’t say anything but nodded as Viktor stepped back, and Yuuri followed the gentle pull of Viktor’s grasp. Hesitantly, cautiously, Yuuri stepped down from the thick plastic mat over concrete onto the slick of ice.

“Do you want the wall?” Viktor asked quickly, because despite what he had said and how Yuuri had agreed, he watched the danseur tense as he left the security of the floor. Viktor kept a hold of Yuuri’s forearms rather than his hands, more concerned about keeping him from falling and hurting himself than getting to enjoy hand-holding. That could come later, hopefully.

“No,” Yuuri said stubbornly, although the air of tension to his voice suggested otherwise. Viktor didn’t want to press, though, deciding it better to have faith in Yuuri’s decision, and instead of objecting Viktor nodded his head.

“In that case, I’d rather get away from the wall. Just in case. If you’d rather not hold it, I’d rather get rid of the chance of you hitting your head on it,” Viktor said, and Yuuri didn’t put up protest when Viktor carefully pulled him along the ice, away from the wall of the rink. When he came to a stop he gave Yuuri a chance to adjust before speaking again. “Hold onto me,” Viktor instructed, and Yuuri wasted no time getting a more secure grasp on him, on hand moving just below Viktor’s elbow, and the other to his shoulder. “Now slide your foot back and forth. Just one, on the inside edge.”

“The what?” Yuuri asked, looking up at him, and Viktor realized in that moment just how close they were.

He cleared his throat and dropped his gaze so he could focus. “The inside edge of the blade. You’ll feel it, just try,” Viktor said, a hand on Yuuri’s side and the other bracing Yuuri’s arm that grasped onto his own. It oddly felt like they were dancing – but a clumsy, hesitant dance rather than anything sweeping and beautiful. Yuuri followed his instructions, testing the slide of his skates before he nodded a few times. Viktor prompted him to do the same to the other side, and when he did so, Viktor tried not to spend too long thinking about how handsome Yuuri looked this concentrated.

“Now?” Yuuri asked as he came to a stop, tilting his head up to look at Viktor, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. Viktor was pretty sure the danseur was trying to kill him, and he swallowed hard.

“Right. Ah, you’re probably not really going to like this part, but I’m going to let go-“

“What?”

“-And I need you to push your skates apart-“

“Viktor, I  _can’t_ -“

“-And then back together-“

“I’m  _seriously_ going to fall and die if you let go!” Yuuri insisted, grasp tightening on Viktor’s arm as he spoke and Yuuri managed to, clumsily as it may have been, drag himself closer to eliminate the chance of the other man pulling away. It worked, for the moment at least, as Viktor stayed put and looked back down at Yuuri with a flushed, amused smile. Yuuri wasn’t sure he had ever seen Viktor blush, especially because of him.

“I won’t go far,” Viktor assured him, hands still maintaining a light hold on the danseur’s arm and waist. “But you need to give it a try. If you start to get wobbly I’ll come right back. I’ll watch you. You won’t fall before I catch you.”

“You’re not superhuman – if I start falling you’re only going to be able to go so fast.”

“Trust me, Yuuri,” Viktor reiterated, before prompting playfully, “I thought you’d be up for this, but we can stop if you’d like.” His gaze was a gentle challenge that seemed to spark determination in Yuuri again, despite the evident nerves.

Tentatively, Yuuri loosened his grasp on Viktor and gave him a serious look. “Apart and back together?” Yuuri asked for confirmation over the earlier instructions. Viktor nodded his head and smiled at the reignited drive that settled in Yuuri’s gaze.

“Exactly. Show me what you’ve got, Katsuki.” Viktor gave Yuuri’s arm one last squeeze before carefully dropping his hand away, and then let go of Yuuri’s waist. As promised Viktor didn’t go far, skating back just far enough to give Yuuri some room to move. There was a moment of hesitation and Viktor certainly didn’t blame the other man, but to his credit, Yuuri carefully pushed his skates as directed, steering them apart and then back together, gliding forward with the clumsy momentum generated. But he didn’t fall, and the sheer panic on the danseur’s expression melted away just slightly, giving way to a little smile.

“There you go,” Viktor praised with a bright smile, nodding as Yuuri did it once more successfully, arms spread for balance. Viktor skated further back as Yuuri closed the gap between them, encouraging the other to keep going. The delicate knit to Yuuri’s brow was charming as he focused on the simple movement.

“This feels really dumb,” Yuuri commented after a moment, and Viktor laughed as he skated further back, careful to keep the gap between them reasonable so they didn’t collide and Yuuri didn’t end up stranded.

“You’re doing great, though. How did I know you’d be a natural?” Viktor cooed, and Yuuri looked up from his feet momentarily to shoot the man a look, before his focused returned primarily to his skates on the ice. “When you get the hang of that, try doing it one leg at a time. One and then the other. That’s how you move forward.”

“Right,” Yuuri replied, doing both feet a few more times before he paused, and Viktor watched the gears turn in Yuuri’s mind as he figured out how to do one at a time before he pushed off tentatively with his right foot, and then his left. It wasn’t graceful, they both knew that. But Yuuri stayed upright, for the most part, Viktor’s hands twitching at the slight fumble as he pushed with his left, but the danseur recovered, arms hovering out to the side.

After Yuuri went on for a while, thankfully without falling, slowly they made their way around half of the rink. Viktor had departed once to play some music over the little sound system left out from someone’s training earlier on in the day, plugging his phone in and letting whatever came over a featured Spotify playlist fill the space. That way it felt a little less silent between their bouts of chatter when Yuuri was particularly focused.

He was quick to return to Yuuri’s side in case of a fall, but it seemed that energy spent worrying was wasted for the most part. There were slips and Viktor ended up hovering at Yuuri’s side to catch and steady him when he faltered, but for as long as Yuuri tried to better his technique, it only happened a handful of times. Viktor considered that an immense success, considering  _he_ had fallen many times his first time skating. He supposed that Yuuri’s overall strength as a danseur would have something to do with that control.

Viktor circled around to stop in front of Yuuri again slowly after Yuuri had settled into the movements a little more, and he slid his hands back into Yuuri’s with a relaxed smile.

“Your hands are cold,” Yuuri complained with a little huff, though he didn’t seem to be making any moves to pull away from Viktor’s grasp. Viktor merely gave the other man a look surely saying  _‘you can’t be complaining_ ’, and Yuuri conceded to it with a little smile, the flush from the cold on his cheeks seeming to spread just a little.

Gorgeous, Viktor decided.

“See, you’re great at this. And, you said you were going to fall and die,” Viktor told him after they had made a little more progress around the rink, Yuuri gaining slightly more confidence in his skating.

“I thought I was,” Yuuri replied seriously, twining their fingers together with only a moment’s hesitation. He was growing used to the idea of holding hands with Viktor; the necessity of it out on the ice made it easier to do without getting too worked up over it. “But it’s not too bad. It’s not easy, I don’t think my legs have stopped shaking since I got out here.”

“But you’re doing it,” Viktor reasoned with a content smile, skating backward and pulling Yuuri along with him. Yuuri didn’t put much effort into assisting, pushing his feet a little but letting Viktor do the bulk of the work. It seemed only fair. “You’re doing better than the school children Yakov had me teaching if that makes you feel any better.”

Yuuri let out a dry laugh and nodded his head, “Definitely, I’m glad I’m surpassing your wild expectations.”

“This is more fun than teaching them too, I hope you know.”

“So you like me more than the seven-year-olds at Yakov’s summer camp?” Yuuri teased, clasping their hands together more firmly now, confident.

“Infinitely more,” Viktor replied without missing a beat, and maybe he sounded a little too eager to offer up the confirmation since this was their first proper date, but the warmth of Yuuri’s expression made the risk worth it.

After three and a half months, nearly four really, of hurried coffee and lunch non-dates, Viktor was relieved tonight was going so well. Relieved that his worries had seemingly been over nothing. Yuuri seemed happy despite his earlier hesitancy about coming into the sports complex so late after hours. Between their intertwined hands and absently gliding around the ice together, lazily making slow laps as Yuuri continued to learn the technique, Viktor couldn’t think of anywhere he would rather be.

“How do you skate backward?” Yuuri asked after a moment, peeking over at Viktor as they continued skating their slow circles around the ice.

“The same as you do forward,” Viktor reasoned, though he supposed that wasn’t a very good description when it came to teaching. “When you were using both feet earlier you were pushing your weight forward. It’s the same idea, but just…”

“Backwards?”

“Yeah,” Viktor nodded, offering up a little smile that he couldn’t make sense of it more than that. It was all intuitive to him, and so trying to give instructions on  _how_ was a little funny. Gliding about was as easy walking down the sidewalk, maybe more so if his prevailing streak of clumsiness around Yuuri was anything to go by.

“I’d like to try that,” Yuuri announced, and Viktor tried to hide his worried expression but seemed to fail because Yuuri stubbornly continued, “I’ve basically got skating forward down. I don’t see why backward would be too much harder.”

“You’re an ambitious student,” Viktor said, thumb dragging slowly back and forth against Yuuri’s hand.

“I have a good teacher. Besides, if I’m going to keep up with you I should probably try to learn more than awkwardly shuffling my way around the ice,” Yuuri said, and it drew a laugh from Viktor.

“Keep up with me?” he questioned, though he didn’t mean to sound as surprised as he did. It was just an amusing thought. Yuuri was doing well for his first time skating, but he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to ‘keep up’ unless he abandoned all other pursuits instead of skating. Not that Viktor was cocky. It was just a fact.

“Better than I am now,” Yuuri clarified dryly, risking the extra movement to knock Viktor’s elbow with his own. Viktor refrained, hard as it was, from returning the playful gesture. He would rather not bump Yuuri and upset his balance and send him toppling. Seeing as Yuuri was still shaky in his skates for all his stubbornness, the precaution felt warranted.

“Give it a try, then. You’ll feel it,” Viktor said, and Yuuri reluctantly let go of Viktor’s hand as the other skated leisurely to hover at Yuuri’s back instead. There was a moment of awkward pause, Yuuri shifting his weight back and forth, feet gliding forward and back on the ice, before he let out a nervous laugh.

“Okay- maybe this is a little harder than I figured it was going to be,” admitted the danseur, arms hovering out to the sides for balance as he fumbled. Viktor’s hand drifted to rest on the curve of Yuuri’s waist when he was close enough, still behind him. “I’m good, I’m good. Give me a second, I’ll figure it out.”

“You’re stubborn,” Viktor remarked, and he could all but feel the little grin on Yuuri’s lips as a glance was spared over his shoulder.

“I’m a  _natural,_ remember?” Yuuri said teasingly, looking over his shoulder for a moment longer before he turned his head back to the front. He took a steadying breath, squared his shoulders, and tried again. Viktor backed up to give him room so as to not trip Yuuri on his own skates, but still hovered much closer than he had been before. Mostly because he was worried. Partially because he couldn’t stand the idea of being further away from Yuuri than necessary right now.

To his credit, Yuuri did sort of get it. His movements were still clumsy, even more so than they had been when he was skating forward. But he wasn’t just awkwardly sliding back and forth on the spot. There was a little more distance to his skating; nothing earth shattering but good in the department of  _‘my date dragged me to an ice rink in the middle of the night and is forcing me to learn to skate’._

So needless to say, Viktor was pretty impressed.

As it was to be expected, Yuuri’s streak of success had to end sometime. Viktor remembered when teaching the seven-year-olds at Yakov’s summer camp, he had insisted that learning to fall well was as important as learning to skate well. Naturally, this had resulted in the children wanting to see who could slide the furthest on the ice rather than actually skating with any good purpose… But the sentiment was the same. If you learned to skate, you were going to fall at  _some_ point.

Yuuri Katsuki, though Viktor firmly believed he was an ethereal being of beauty (and grace and wit and sexiness and sheer adorability), was no exception to that concept.

It was probably skating backward that had done it because of the new, awkward distribution of weight and movement on the ice. It was a little easier to steady yourself when you were watching where you were going, but the blind trust of skating backward was always a little troublesome for new skaters. Viktor watched the moment Yuuri’s right skate slid out too far, having pushed wrong to try and move backward, and in turn he had seen the way the danseur had started to go down, feet coming out from under him and a sharp sound of surprise – somewhere between a yelp and a squawk that would sound ugly if it were anyone else, Viktor decided – erupting from his throat.

Maybe it was a good thing. Somehow, because Viktor now found himself standing behind Yuuri, half holding him up with arms locked around the danseur’s chest and waist, knee bent so his leg could catch some of Yuuri’s weight as well to keep him from meeting the ice hard. As much as Viktor wanted to relish in the moment of  _‘I’m holding Yuuri Katsuki how is my life this good-‘_ , he was also very aware of the fact that Yuuri was probably panicking right now at the prospect of falling. Also, Lilia would murder him and have him made into a handbag if he managed to get Yuuri hurt.

“Careful, моё Солнышко,”2 Viktor laughed low in his chest, careful as he maneuvered Yuuri into a lift of sorts, turning him so they weren’t a tangle of awkward limbs any longer, intent on setting him back onto his feet. Yuuri clutching onto him came as a bit of a surprise, but it was needless to say that Viktor wasn’t going to complain about it. He was cautious as he righted the danseur back onto the ice, hands keeping a gentle grasp to ensure Yuuri didn’t slip again. “Okay?” Viktor asked, but he wasn’t exactly sure what he was asking about. If he would be careful? If Yuuri was okay? If holding him was okay? If everything in their date up until this point had been okay?

All Viktor could focus on was that Yuuri looked beautiful right now. That and the fact that Yuuri was still holding onto him like he was the key to survival and, while it made Viktor feel important, it also sort of made him want to melt into a puddle on the ice. But with Yuuri’s eyes blown wide in surprise, skin flushed from the cold of the rink, or maybe embarrassment over slipping, or their proximity, and that hesitant, shy smile on his face…

He looked perfect, and Viktor definitely did something right in a past life to be standing in Yubileyny after hours, holding him like this. To have Yuuri holding him back, and warm brown eyes directed at him.

 

“Yeah,” Yuuri replied, his voice hardly higher than a whisper - as if speaking any louder was going to ruin the energy budding between them. Maybe it would, maybe it wouldn’t have – Viktor couldn’t think of many things Yuuri could do then and there that would force him out of the current hazy trance he had been thrust into. Yuuri’s hands loosened from where they had been gripping onto the fabric of Viktor’s button up for dear life, fingers shaky from nerves or the cold, Viktor couldn’t tell, as the danseur slid a hand up to rest on the side of Viktor’s neck. The other stayed near Viktor’s shoulder.

“Your hands are cold,” Viktor complained playfully as Yuuri’s fingertips rested against his jaw, and Yuuri near perfectly mirrored the look Viktor had given him earlier, brows raised and eyes glittering with amusement. Viktor thought it was an easy call to make, but the expression definitely looked a million times better on Yuuri than it had him.

Viktor’s hand drifted down from near Yuuri’s ribcage where he had lifted him, to settle instead on the small of his back and hip tentatively. When he didn’t seem to be at any risk of having his hands batted away from their new station, Viktor pulled Yuuri marginally closer and let his arms wind around the shorter man. Yuuri’s thumb brushed slowly along the line of his jaw and before Viktor realized it he was leaning down, Yuuri was stretching upward-

After months of thinking about it, Viktor was kissing Yuuri and if he had the attention to spare (because,  _holy shit, he was kissing Yuuri and Yuuri was kissing him-)_  he would be disappointed in his imaginative abilities because this kiss was better than  _anything_ his mind could have conjured up. It wasn’t so much a swell of passion in a dramatic flair and symphonic music, or a heated moment with hands grasping tightly and tugging at clothes, or a flurry of teeth and searing hard kisses like Viktor had pondered the possibility of maybe one night too many.

But it was indisputably Yuuri in each and every way. His lips were a little chapped but Viktor would swear they were soft and plush as they met with his own. His nose was cold from time spent in the rink, and the tremble to his fingers seemed to soothe away as Viktor pressed into the kiss just slightly further. Nothing overbearing, but merely a silent reassurance of ‘this is heaven on earth’ and ‘please let me keep kissing you forever’. It was sweet, chaste, and tentative as they settled into each other and experienced something new for the first time, wrapped up in the other’s warmth.

Yuuri pulled away first and Viktor let him without a moment’s hesitation – or well, maybe a brief moment’s hesitation because he found himself ducking back down for one more short peck for good measure. It was received well enough from Yuuri, who let out a soft laugh against Viktor’s mouth, and Viktor wanted to remember the feel of Yuuri’s smile against his for all of time to come.

“Um,” Yuuri started quietly, cheeks flushed and Viktor knew now that it wasn’t from the cold of the rink, because he could feel the same heat flushing colour onto his own face as he gazed down at Yuuri. “I usually don’t…” he started to justify himself, but trailed off in volume before the ‘ _do this on the first date’_ could come out.

“Our little secret,” Viktor supplied with a smile, moving to take Yuuri’s hand from his jaw into his own. Holding it, he pressed his lips against the cool skin of Yuuri’s fingers. Viktor typically wasn’t one for kissing on the first date either, save for a few special circumstances. He felt that this was one of them.

“We’re making a lot of those tonight,” Yuuri said, his voice near dreamy and a smile of his own to mirror Viktor’s. “Between that and breaking into Yubileyny…”

“Oh, that won’t be a secret,” Viktor replied, cheerful still as he treated himself with one last kiss to Yuuri’s knuckles because he couldn’t help himself, and then lowered their joined hands. “They’ll see us on the security cameras for sure-“

“Viktor!”

“What? They’re the one who gave me the keys!” laughed the Russian, but Yuuri was already fretting over the concept.

“I can’t believe we broke in here at- what time is it?-“ Yuuri fumbled for his phone, pulling it from his pocket and gawking at the display of 1:16 AM. How was it  _that_ late? “A-and it’s just going to be on the security cameras! Viktor, they’re going to get so angry that we just waltzed in here!”

“It’s not really breaking in if you have the keys,” Viktor reiterated, hoping that it would calm Yuuri down and it seemed to, somewhat, although Viktor found himself on the receiving end of a shockingly stern gaze.

“We should go.”

“Do you  _want_ to?”

“I’d rather not get in trouble because we’re still hanging around when the janitors get here,” Yuuri said dryly, though he was still smiling, nearly beaming despite the worry he presented over getting in trouble over their late night visit to the skating rink. “Besides, it's pretty late. And I think I'm done skating for the night.”

Viktor knew when not to press his luck too far, and so he used the hand that rested on the small of Yuuri’s back to start guiding him over to the gateway onto the ice now. Their skates were quickly unlaced and returned to the storage closet. Viktor retrieved his phone from where he had plugged it into the sound system earlier, cringing momentarily at the time, before he led Yuuri out through the door they had entered, locking the door as if they had never been there. Except they had. And Viktor had kissed Yuuri and probably had the best night of his life just skating around while Yuuri tried to get accustomed to it.

Part of him knew in that moment that he was in deep, very deep, but he paid it no mind.

The walk back to Yuuri’s apartment wasn’t rushed despite the late hour, the chill that settled into the night air still somewhat warmer than it had been inside. They chattered and flirted back idly, Viktor mentioning that, at the very least, the security guards would have something happy to look at when they reviewed the footage to see why the doors had been opened up so late in the night.

When they came to a stop outside of Yuuri’s apartment complex Viktor hesitated for a moment, smiling fondly at Yuuri and brushing a few strands of his hair back that had come free from the perfectly messy pushed back style. “Thanks for tonight,” Viktor said serenely, feeling akin to a daydream as the events of the night caught up to him. It really had been perfect.

“You definitely don’t have to thank me,” Yuuri replied, shaking his head. “I had a really great time, Viktor. Even if I’m going to be a felon now because of you.”

“It is not trespassing if you have the keys. You’re just a stickler for the rules,” Viktor insisted again with a laugh, shaking his head too. They fell quiet for a moment, standing there on the sidewalk. Viktor knew that he had to tear himself away because they couldn’t very well just stand there gazing at each other all night. Well, they  _could,_ but Viktor was sure there was some nosy old woman peering out their window somewhere watching them-

“Goodnight, Viktor. I’ll… I’ll talk to you tomorrow?” Yuuri asked, seeming to pause for a moment before he slid his hand back into Viktor’s, locking their fingers together. With it being a rest day tomorrow, the realization settled over Viktor that he wasn’t going to get to spend the day with Yuuri too. Viktor felt like an idiot as he nodded back quickly.

“Absolutely,” he said quietly, holding onto Yuuri’s hand for a moment longer before he gave it a gentle squeeze, and forced himself to let go for now. He shouldn’t be this clingy after a first date but Viktor couldn’t help it and didn’t care enough to stop it. He would comfort himself with Christophe’s logic; it was hardly their first date if Viktor had been taking him out to lunch for three months. This was just... more official. A benchmark. “Goodnight, Yuuri. I hope you sleep well,” Viktor said.

When Yuuri rocked back on his heels, almost uncertain, before stretching up to press a quick kiss to his cheek, Viktor was thrust deeper into the throes of affection than he was already drowning in for Yuuri. How was that even remotely fair?

“See you,” Yuuri offered, taking a few steps backward, as though memorizing the way Viktor looked in that moment, stunned and flushed from the innocent gesture, before he turned and disappeared into the courtyard and eventually the apartment building.

Viktor walked home with a spring in his step, feeling lighter than he had in years.

\--

> **3:21 AM [phichitchu]:**   _okay so its like 3am your time and you’re still not back?? or you forgot to text me but that’s not believable because i am a Top Priority so_
> 
> **3:21 AM [phichitchu]:**   _so i am forced to believe one of two things_
> 
> **3:22 AM [phichitchu]:**   _tonight went awful and viktor nikiforov is a serial killer that has tragically murdered you and im going to be alone forever_
> 
> **3:22 AM [phichitchu]:**   _alternatively_
> 
> **3:22 AM [phichitchu]:**   _tonight went REALLY well (is going really well? ((((; ) and you’re going to have a beautiful life with a beautiful russian that you’re having happy safe consensual sex with right now_
> 
> **3:24 AM [phichitchu]:**   _and i want to believe the second one because i want you to be happy so text me back in the morning (my morning)_
> 
> **3:24 AM [phichitchu]:**   _love you yuuri! you owe me a phone call definitely!!_

\--

> **8:46 AM [Yasha]:**   _Viktor,_
> 
> _Do I want to know, or even ask you, why security at_   _Yubileyny called me at 8 AM to inform me, and then have me come in to watch cam footage of you and ‘an unidentified man’ in the rink last night for hours? And that you borrowed rental skates and used the sound system? I’m not even going to touch the kissing._
> 
> _Don’t do that again._
> 
> **8:53 AM [Yasha]:**   _I’m happy for you. But please, don’t be an idiot. See you for training tomorrow._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Олигарх - slang, used to describe people who are very rich [according to Google research - sorry if this isn't entirely accurate!]  
> 2\. моё Солнышко - My sunshine
> 
> edit: thanks pandaspots and fall_from_innocence for fixing my russian errors!   
> \--
> 
> ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
> 
> next chapter we're breezing along to the beginning of the grand prix series, so we're off to skate america! i think each qualifier will be one chapter each, but we'll see how that plan goes. if you have anything you'd like to see included, feel free to let me know in the comments/on tumblr/on twitter. there's plenty of room for playing around a little haha.
> 
> you can find me on [my tumblr](http://aphhun.tumblr.com) and [my twitter!](http://twitter.com/aphhun) come hangout, getting to talk to you guys absolutely makes my day.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we meet with old friends, and skate (for points)!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so sorry there wasn't an update last week! please enjoy the first competition, and a cameo from one of my favourites!
> 
> beta'd by the amazing [snow_falls!](http://archiveofourown.com/users/snow_falls) the thick divider rather than our usual "--" denotes a flashback!

“Will you calm the fuck down? You’re seriously embarrassing. Don’t make such a scene,” Yuri barked, slouching down further into his chair. It wasn’t comfortable, but Lilia wasn’t around to lecture about his posture right now and with another long flight ahead of them, he wanted to squash this behaviour now. It had been bad enough in the airport at St Petersburg to try and deal with, and Yuri didn’t want to deal with it the entire time they were flying from their layover here in Paris to America.

“Come on, I’m not even asking for much! Just trade seats with me.”

“No.”

“ _Yuri-“_

“No way! I’m not sitting with Yakov. If you wanted to sit beside your boyfriend then you should have pulled your lovesick head out of your ass before Lilia booked the flights — hey, are you even listening?”

Maybe Viktor had gotten a little sidetracked halfway through Yuri’s tangent. But in his defense, he had good enough reason because he had been reminded of something really important. The reminder being that, you know, he had a boyfriend.

Yuuri Katsuki was totally his boyfriend.

After their date, they hadn’t exactly discussed what they were going to be to each other in explicit terms. For some time, Viktor and Yuuri had been content to just let whatever they  _had_ be it. They were happy to spend a little more time together outside of practices and training when they could spare it, endeavouring to go on a few more dates as time rolled by. Things could only remain vague for so long, though, particularly when Viktor felt like his heart was going to beat out of his chest every time they went on another date or Yuuri let him hold his hand.

 

* * *

 

“It’s actually not that bad here, I thought it would be busy,” Yuuri remarked as they walked through palace square together, Makkachin’s leash in Viktor’s hand and Vicchan in Yuuri’s. It was still warm, settled into late September. The sky was clear and, after they had managed to get Vicchan and Makkachin to stop playing and investigating each other, they had set out for a walk around the city.

“Tourist season is mostly over. That always helps cut down on the crowds,” Viktor said, glancing over at Yuuri as they strolled aimlessly around. They more or less let Makkachin and Vicchan determine their course, the dog’s curiosity leading them through the streets. With nowhere to be it was a leisurely afternoon.

Viktor had decided they needed a photo together with the Winter Palace in the background, for the sake of documenting their day out together. After a few attempts to try and get a good one they had enlisted the help of a nearby teenager who seemed happy enough to oblige.

“This way Makkachin and Vicchan can be in it too,” Viktor said as he came back to Yuuri’s side, waiting until Makkachin sat down near his feet before he let his hand come to rest on Yuuri’s back. Once Vicchan was sitting the teen took a few photos, from far away and then closer up, before returning Viktor’s phone to him and going on their way.

“These are really nice – you’ll have to send them to me,” Yuuri said as he peeked over at Viktor’s screen while the older man swiped through the images.

“They look like family photos,” Viktor commented absently, unable to help himself and fawning over the idea. Two happy men and their furry dog children – wasn’t that what everyone wanted?

“I guess they sort of do, huh?” Yuuri agreed with a soft laugh, leaning marginally into Viktor’s side. The Russian wound an arm around Yuuri, peeking over at him hopefully.

“The first of many?” Viktor proposed, taking in the pretty sparkle in Yuuri’s gaze as he studied the screen for just a moment longer.

“Hopefully,” Yuuri finally replied, looking over at Viktor when he spoke. “That makes it sound like we’re getting married,” he added quietly.

“Wanna? I know a guy.”

“Viktor!”

“Come on, be my husband and our family will be complete. Makkachin needs another good dad.”

“Viktor, no way,” Yuuri laughed as he shook his head at the mere notion, but did stoop down to scrub Makkachin behind the ears.

“My fiancé then, if you won’t go elope with me.”

“You’re getting  _way_ ahead of yourself. It’s only been two months.”

“ _Almost_ three. Can you blame me, though?” He had only got a look for that one, and Viktor’s head tipped back in laughter before he finally prompted, “Boyfriend?”

Yuuri smiled wide, told him that was better pacing, and he would be happy to start there.

 

* * *

 

They hadn’t gotten married obviously (Viktor had a hunch Yakov would have an aneurysm if he had taken off on a honeymoon so close to the Grand Prix), but it had led to a much easier approach to figuring out their relationship besides the  _“So… What are we”_ conversation Viktor had been dreading having to have. It felt so impatient and forced when it was approached from that angle. Going back and forth about it with Yuuri playfully until they had come to a conclusion was more natural. Suited their dynamic much more seamlessly. He was going to remember that smile of Yuuri’s forever. The confirmation that,  _yes,_ they were boyfriends now, was a welcome one.

Viktor didn’t post the photos of them together in Palace Square to his Instagram, either. He wanted to keep them private, something to have between Yuuri and himself. He also didn’t want to deal with the firestorm that was media and fans by announcing his relationship with Yuuri like that. Not with the Grand Prix Series on the agenda. Maybe in the off-season, and he’d post a cute photo of them together…

“…Yeah, I don’t get it, he’s been zoned out like a fucking idiot for a few minutes now. Just dump it on him, that’ll wake him up.” Yuri’s voice cut back into his attention, and Viktor perked up to try and catch up on what exactly was happening.

“Oh, there we go,” Yuuri laughed –  _ugh_ it was so perfect Viktor wanted to listen to it forever – and pulled a tall paper cup from the tray it had been wedged into.

“Welcome back to the realm of the living,” Yuri grumbled from behind his own cup, and Viktor knew that it probably held some sort of sickly sweet latte that Lilia would kill him for even thinking about, let alone having Yuuri order for him. Viktor, in turn, took his tea from Yuuri and thanked him.

“He won’t switch seats still,” Viktor mournfully informed Yuuri, and the danseur took his seat next to Viktor and pulled the plastic tab of his cup back so he could take a drink.

“Nor should I  _have to,_ ” Yuri returned from across the aisle between the rows of seats, his face shoved into his phone.

“It will be okay,” Yuuri assured him with a little smile, “Our seats aren’t even that far apart. And the flight isn’t that long-“

“It’s eight  _hours,_ ” Viktor lamented, shaking his head. “I’m not going to survive.”

“Oh, don’t be a fucking tool Viktor. You lived twenty-seven years without this guy, you can make it through one flight without sitting beside him.”

“You don’t understand,” Viktor said, sipping on his tea slowly as he settled further into his seat. He didn’t exactly see why Yuri  _wouldn’t_ switch seats with him, seeing as he wasn’t going to talk to Yuuri during the flight anyway. It would be no different if he was seated next to Yakov. Viktor knew that Yuri would have his face jammed in his phone for the entirety of the flight if he wasn’t sleeping.

It was spite, surely. If Viktor hadn’t asked maybe Yuri would have but now that he knew Viktor wanted it, there was no way in hell Yuri was going to relent. And so Viktor pouted and slumped miserably against Yuuri, tea balanced on his knee, and a whine forming in the back of his throat akin to something Makkachin might make if he didn’t get to go on a walk.

“Um,” Yuuri started after silence had settled between the three for a while. It was early, and the airport wasn’t as busy as Viktor had seen it before. So Yuuri’s voice was clear as it cut through the dull noise of people moving about to find their departures. “Did you think about maybe getting Yakov to trade instead?”

Viktor perked up at that, twisting in the poorly padded leather chair.

“Have I told you lately that you’re a genius, Yuuri?” Viktor asked, even though there was a nagging in the back of his mind that Yakov probably wasn’t going to indulge the request either, for the pure sake of not complicating their travel arrangements. Yuuri merely smiled and shrugged, and looked back to his phone while Viktor tried to figure out how he was going to wrangle Yakov into agreeing to swap.

\--

Viktor hadn’t been able to wrangle his way into Yuri’s seat after all. When they had gotten closer to their boarding time, Viktor had mentioned it again in front of Lilia and Yakov. He wasn’t above whining just a little when eight hours with Yuuri or Yakov were his options. He would much prefer to sit with the danseur. Yakov had insisted that Viktor was too old for this sort of thing and, after some quiet theatrics, Yakov arrived at a compromise that should Viktor win gold as planned (quiet murmured to keep safe from the ears of Yuri) then he could sit with Yuuri on the flight back to Russia.

That seemed a fair enough trade off in Viktor’s eyes, and so he relented with the promise of getting to sit with Yuuri  _eventually_ as payment enough.

He hadn’t done much more on the flight than sleep, trying to pre-emptively beat the jetlag he knew he would succumb to anyway. If he would cushion it at the very least, though, Viktor would be happy. By the time their plane landed in America he felt that his skin had all but shrivelled and died from the dry air and that his bones were never going to stop aching when he stood and shuffled off of the plane alongside everyone else.

He hadn’t been to this city before, but quickly he decided that it was charming. A sleek skyline of high-rise buildings neighbouring a vast lake. It was nothing like home, though Viktor had grown accustomed to such new and unfamiliar sights long ago. All he knew was that he was thankful the drive to the hotel was short, and that their process of checking in was relatively streamlined. He was supposed to be sharing a room with Yuri – to which Yuri had griped and groaned about but Viktor hadn’t necessarily minded – while Yakov, Lilia, and Yuuri each had their own separate rooms.

Viktor had in mind which room he’d  _like_ to spend the most time in, should he have a choice.

“Just keep your shit away from mine,” Yuri grumbled, voice fatigued and without its usual edge, as he shuffled around and put his clothes away haphazardly, some strewn out across the bed and desk as they waited to find a more permanent home in the stand-up wardrobe. His costumes stored safely away inside of heavy duty garment bags. Viktor had to assume that Lilia had given them to Yuri since they were certainly nicer than the ones he had used in his junior days. He may only see them interact in their ballet lessons, but he imagined living together had brought them together. Lilia had never been the motherly type, but she definitely had a soft spot for the young skater.

Viktor admired their dynamic. If anyone could deal with Lilia’s wild expectations and blunt nature, it was Yuri.

“Aren’t you excited?” Viktor asked eventually, looking over to Yuri, who had since finished (or, decided to be finished) unpacking, and was sprawled out across one of the queen sized beds. “The first qualifier of your first senior Grand Prix series?”

“I’d be more excited if you weren’t here to drool over the assistant.”

“I’m here to compete,” Viktor insisted seriously, sitting down on the edge of his bed. “Having Yuuri here is just a bonus. I know that he’s here because of Lilia. Because of you.”

Yuri grunted, and spared a short glance in Viktor’s direction. “Why do you put it like that?” he asked, eyes moving back to his phone screen, though Viktor noted the teen didn’t seem as absorbed in it as he had been before.

“He’s part of your team – technically, whether you want to look at it that way or not,” Viktor said, leaning down to unlace his shoes. “And I know that I’ve… interfered a little with that. But it’s all for good reason in the end.”

“And that ‘good reason’ is _?”_

“I’m inspired.” Viktor’s voice was near whimsical as he spoke. “I’m not sure I’ve ever felt this inspired, at least not in a very long time. And it all works out, doesn’t it? You get a ballet instructor — likely one of the best danseurs on the planet. And, I get a muse? The most wonderful, talented, enchanting-”

“Spare me your sappy romance shit, I don’t want to hear it,” Yuri cut him off in a sharp tone, and after a moment of what may have been hesitation, rolled over so his back was facing Viktor now. Viktor was left blinking in surprise, studying the teen as he scrolled through…  _Whatever_ app that was, and pointedly ignored his presence. Maybe Viktor had misread the situation a little. Was Yuri that bothered by him being here? He supposed that maybe he hadn’t wanted to share a qualifier together. But it seemed out of place that Yuri would be worried about competition, and that he would choose now to be more vocal about Viktor’s relationship with Yuuri…

Viktor decided to leave it for now; he wasn’t entirely sure what could be done about it. Regardless, it seemed a losing battle to try and argue about it with Yuri now when they were both rundown from travel. Viktor would much rather live to see the competition, rather than be throttled by a jetlagged Yuri Plisetsky.

And so for the sake of what could only be considered self-preservation, he went in search of Yuuri’s hotel room instead.

If Viktor could have had it his way, they would be sharing a hotel room rather than Viktor being with Yuri. And he supposed that, really, he could be. But there had been no smooth way to bring it up, and Yuuri had seemed interested in taking things slowly between them. Viktor didn’t want to come right out and wedge his way into Yuuri’s hotel room if he didn’t want him there. Since he wasn’t a guest covered under the ISU, Viktor hadn’t been able to approach it tactfully and so he had elected to not at all. Should Yuri stay this annoyed at him, though…

Viktor hoped Yuuri wouldn’t mind his company.

Viktor didn’t bother texting Yuuri to inform him that he was coming up to his hotel room – Yuuri had assured him that if he wanted to come visit after freshening up that was okay. Viktor was sure that in the time he had managed to shower, put some of his clothes away,  _and_ bicker with Yuri, Yuuri had finished cleaning himself up as well. Viktor waited a moment for the elevator, flashing a polite smile to the man who was already inside of it, and pressed the button for Yuuri’s floor, three up from his own.

It might have been one of the strangest elevator rides of his life, despite not being long. Viktor was used to people looking at him since he competed and performed and endorsed for a living. But maybe not in elevators. With such a hard, focused gaze. The man, much shorter than he was and of a slighter build, studied him with intensity in his dark brown eyes and Viktor thought the other  _might_ be trying to look into the very depths of his soul – he couldn’t tell. Instead of questioning it Viktor merely tried to keep his neutral expression pleasant and watched the stainless steel of the door before it dinged on Yuuri’s floor, and he—

Ah. So they were both getting off here.

“Sorry,” Viktor apologized with a smile and gestured for the other man to exit first when they both attempted to leave at the same time. Letting the other go first seemed fair, seeing as he had been in the elevator the longest. The short exchange didn’t soften the intensity of the other’s study, though, increased it somehow if anything and Viktor swallowed down his bubbling uncertainty as he exited the elevator second, phone in his hand to text Yuuri to let him know that he was going to be outside in a moment.

Except, his focus for that was deterred when the stranger continued down the end of the hallway he was embarking upon. Viktor wasn’t saying that this was impossible because this was a hotel that people stayed in and Yuuri didn’t have this floor to himself. But it was the weird guy who had stared at him in the elevator, so everything felt a little suspicious.

Then the weird guy stopped in front of Yuuri’s door and knocked, and Viktor was positive that he had never left his hotel room to begin with. Yuri must have thrown something at his head and knocked him out or killed him, and this was some sort of weird delusion because  _why_ was the weird guy knocking on Yuuri’s room – Yuuri  _had_ said 942, right?

It felt silly for Viktor to hang back and watch in the hallway, given the fact that the elevator had already been strange, and so he cautiously inched his way down the hallway, phone in hand as he opened his conversation with Yuuri and sure enough his room was 942 so who was the weird guy and  _why—_

“Yuuri!” The weird guy sounded excited to see him, tone light and glowing and… Not what Viktor expected weird guy to sound like, but certainly more pleasant. From where he lingered Viktor could just barely see Yuuri as weird guy snatched him up into a hug, babbling something eagerly in a language that Viktor wasn’t sure he spoke – or maybe just English spoken too quickly and excitedly for him to entirely keep up with.

“It’s so good to see you,” Yuuri managed to fit the words in between the excited chatter of weird guy, and just as Viktor was clearing his throat and deciding that maybe he’d risk going back downstairs instead of interrupting whatever this was, weird guy pulled back from the squeezing hug he had been keeping Yuuri in, and enough of his English was coherent in its excitement for Viktor to make out.

”-and I met your boyfriend!”

America was surreal so far. He hadn’t  _met_ weird guy. He had experienced weird guy.

“Huh?” Yuuri drew back from the hug just slightly and looked at weird guy, before he peeked his head out into the hallway and Viktor knew he had been spotted, so slinking back to the elevator wasn’t exactly an option. “Oh, Viktor,” Yuuri said, hands falling away from weird guy as he sidestepped out the door so he didn’t have to lean around. “I didn’t know that you were coming up.”

“I meant to text you,” Viktor offered with a polite smile, nodding as he walked a little closer. Even despite the weird guy staring at him in the elevator, maybe this made sense of it because apparently he knew Viktor, and also knew that he was dating Yuuri. He supposed it wasn’t outlandish to believe that Yuuri had some friends coming to see him during their time in America…

“He’s cuter in person,” Weird guy murmured, and Viktor wasn’t sure he had ever seen Yuuri  _elbow_ someone, but it was soft and it was cute. Whoever weird guy was (and Viktor was starting to like him more every moment he wasn’t being studied in an elevator by him) he must be close to Yuuri if he was that physical, and downright playful, towards him.

“Well, ah — I mean, since you’re both here,” Yuuri shuffled again so he was bridging the gap between where Viktor stood and weird guy lingered by the doorway of Yuuri’s hotel room, smiling despite his evident fluster. “Viktor, this is Phichit – he was my roommate while I was living here— “

“And his best friend,” Weird guy, Phichit, contributed, and Viktor smiled.

“He came down to spend some time with me since he had a little gap in his shows,” Yuuri elaborated, before looking over at Phichit, “And since you’re  _nosy_ -”

“Not nosy, just looking out for you-”

-”you already know that this is Viktor. Um, so…” Yuuri trailed awkwardly, gesturing between the two of them. Viktor offered a hand to Phichit politely and shook the smaller man’s hand firmly when it was offered.

“It’s nice to meet you, Phichit. Yuuri’s mentioned you a few times to me,” Viktor said, studying Phichit more openly now that he wasn’t feeling at risk of being mauled in an elevator. Maybe that was dramatic, but Phichit had seemed really intense compared to the beaming smiles he was receiving now. Viktor supposed that maybe Phichit had just been trying to figure if Viktor was who Phichit had thought he was.

“Same, except Yuuri’s totally talked my ear off about you,” Phichit returned, voice warm and eyes somehow warmer still as he gave Viktor’s hand a squeeze. Then he let go and propped his arm up on Yuuri’s shoulder, despite their height difference making it look a little awkward for Phichit to be leaning against him. “When I heard you guys were headed to America I got really excited! I was glad we had some spare time between shows that I could head here to meet you. I’m not going to any of the actual skating stuff, but I mean, hey! I can show you guys around the city.”

“You don’t  _live here,_  Phichit,” Yuuri interjected with an amused glow to his eyes. Viktor was content to just watch them. He realized that as much time as he had spent with Yuuri, he had never seen him around any of his friends. Just people at the rink and the seldom few dancers who came through St Petersburg for rehearsal time with Yuuri. It was refreshing really, to get to see Yuuri in a new light. See how comfortable he was with Phichit.

“Fair point, but I’ve been here,” Phichit replied, before turning his sights over to Viktor, who perked up under the shorter man’s gaze. He really was quite small, even standing next to Yuuri. Still, his personality certainly more than made up for it. Moments ago Viktor had been trying to decide if he was going to be murdered in an elevator, and now he felt like he was being assessed by an old friend after too long apart. “And you! You’ll have to come too because I want to hear about your skating thing. Yuuri hardly ever talks about it long enough and I mean, I’ve totally googled you, but I think you’ll probably be better at talking about yourself than Yuuri since he just tends to blabber about how beauti-“

“Okay!” Yuuri laughed, and Viktor was more or less astonished that Yuuri had his hand clamped over Phichit’s mouth and an arm slung around the shorter man. His gaze was trained on Viktor, and Viktor had to note that it looked a little wild. Likely between Phichit and the long stint of travel. Viktor smiled back at him easily and nodded for him to continue. “Since it’s too early here to sleep why don’t we go out to get something to eat?” Yuuri proposed, pulling his hand off of Phichit’s mouth as an afterthought when Phichit started to talk against Yuuri’s palm, words muffled.

“I know a really great place! We had a show here last month, I’ve been drooling thinking about it ever since. It isn’t that far, either!” Phichit said, and Yuuri disappeared into his hotel room for a moment, long enough to get a coat and shoes before they started back toward the elevator.

This time, Viktor felt much more relaxed.

\--

Over dinner, Viktor had been learning a lot about Phichit.

Despite a lack of interest (or readily available training) for ballet in Thailand, Phichit had started dancing when he was nine through going to whatever classes were available, and then supplementing ballet skill with videos from the internet  _(”Which wasn’t a great idea. I learned a lot of things technically wrong, but they’ve been corrected so-”)_ until he was somewhat decent of a ballet dancer. He got actual lessons when he was ten, and continued training in Thailand with a private instructor until he auditioned for School of American Ballet and moved to America (“ _And I can’t even tell you how nervous I was! I means, tons of ballet prodigies and then me, little guy from Thailand-”)_.

Phichit was the only (" _Maybe the first too, I think-”_ ) Thai soloist of the American Ballet Company. He wasn’t upset he wasn’t a premier danseur because he liked the roles he got and thought they, usually, suited his personality more and he didn’t like doing pas de deux anyway (  _”Unless it’s just for fun! Yuuri and I had this incredible, crazy choreography for a pas de deux in our apartment one time-”)_. Viktor was impressed, to say the least. At both the young man’s accomplishments and the fact that he could mostly sustain a conversation on his own.

“Yuuri said you’re pretty bad at ballet, huh?”

“Phichit that is  _not_ what I said-”

“Wow,” Viktor laughed, resting his arms on the table. If he wasn’t so jetlagged, he might have the energy for an exaggerated reply, but more than anything right now he just wanted to crawl into a bed and sleep. “That’s so cruel, Yuuri. I thought my lessons were going so well!”

“I didn’t say that,” Yuuri protested again, shooting a dry look in Phichit’s direction. “I just told him that ballet isn’t your favourite, and you hadn’t danced it in a while.”

“And that you have sloppy fouettes,” Phichit contributed from behind his drink, amusement clear in his tone. Yuuri groaned and rubbed at the back of his neck.

“Ballet has never really been my favourite style – I learned it under Yakov when I started training with him but didn’t look back once I could opt out,” Viktor contributed, because he certainly wasn’t mad at Yuuri for his comments made to Phichit. Viktor critiqued skaters, and so he thought it only rational that Yuuri would have thoughts on his ballet skill. It was what Yuuri did for a living, after all.

Phichit leaned across the table, an interest sparked in his gaze now. Viktor had also learned that, along with teaching himself ballet, Phichit was more or less passionate about _any_ genre of dance. He had decided over the course of dinner that Phichit was almost like a kind version of Yuri Plisetsky, too stubborn to be bad at something, so he mastered all of it. Except it wasn’t out of spite for Phichit, rather it seemed to be more an admiration crossbred with an obsessive attention to detail.

It was as impressive as it was wildly intimidating, in a way.

“What sort of dancing do you like then? Sort of important to skating, huh?” he questioned.

“A smattering of things,” Viktor replied, pondering it for a moment. “Besides ballet, I took some contemporary classes, a lyrical workshop years ago… Ballroom – waltz, and tango for that. A little jazz, though I was never as fond of that either.”

“Lyrical can be interesting!” Phichit hummed, “When Yuuri and I were roomies we used to go to tons of different classes around the city to try new things. We took a lyrical class from some weird guy — I’m pretty sure that he was high during the class…” he trailed off, and Viktor raised a brow.

“I didn’t know that you had such a broad repertoire,” Viktor said to Yuuri, who had seemed to reluctantly tune back into the dinner table conversation, now that the focus had been drawn away from his critiques of Viktor’s lacking fouettes.

“Well, it was a good way to get to know the city more when I first moved,” Yuuri offered, pushing his food around his plate thoughtfully, “And there was never really a shortage of things to try. Phichit was always really good at finding interesting classes.”

Nodding, Phichit chimed in, “It was nice to take a break from ballet too. They’re really stringent about everything being  _super_ precise – down to your fingers sort of stuff, you know? So getting away from that can be refreshing. I’m still surprised how good Yuuri was at hip hop, though-“

Viktor grinned broadly. “Wait-“

Yuuri seemed to pale, any relief he had been feeling drained now. “ _Phichit-“_

“-after all the convincing it took, you were great at it! And after I managed to drag him to that and get him out of his comfort zone it was way easier to get him to go to other things.”

“Other things like what?” Viktor prompted eagerly, though he was still trying to picture Yuuri dancing hip hop of all things. He had thought it was foreign enough to see Yuuri doing ballet that wasn’t polished to perfection. This was certainly an awakening experience.

“Phichit please-“

“Pole dancing? That was pretty out there for him.”

“Oh my god…” Yuuri groaned and pressed his forehead into his hand.

“Wow.” Viktor officially took back all of his elevator-weird-guy thoughts about Phichit. This man was a blessing Viktor didn't deserve.

“I don’t get why you’re embarrassed about it, Yuuri,” Phichit said with a click of his tongue, unlocking his phone and studying the screen as he tapped through a few screens. “It’s not like it was anything weird. It was just a few classes with a professional, you ended up being good at it. Really good at it,” Phichit mused, quiet for a moment before he leaned over and presented his phone screen to Viktor. To say his throat felt dry as he studied the screen was an understatement.

The picture itself wasn’t all that outlandish – there wasn’t anything crazy happening, and it was just taken on a clean looking stage, three people occupying a pole and posing for the photo to be taken. But there was something to be said for a slightly younger Yuuri Katsuki in heels, a baggy tank top and what had to be booty shorts. His hair was pushed back as it had been on their date, though his glasses were missing and it certainly added some sort of sexier edge.

Part of him vaguely noted that Phichit was among one of the three in the photo, as well as someone who Viktor assumed would be the instructor. A glance at the caption confirmed that reading  _‘Our first show with @BodyPoleNYC was amazing!! Such a cool experience @yuuri-katsuki @NicolePoleNYC’._

“Okay, okay, okay,” Yuuri said, pulling the phone from Phichit’s hand to exit out of Instagram before handing it back. “Can we not look at stuff like that right now? We’re at dinner anyway,” he reasoned. Viktor smiled and gave a gentle squeeze to Yuuri’s knee under the table. He supposed that he had indulged himself enough at Yuuri’s expense, so the topic could rest for now.

Phichit offered up a smile, “I’ll send you videos later.”

Viktor wasn’t sure what was more impressive in that moment – Phichit’s reign as perhaps the best Thai ballet dancer to live, or how quickly he had wormed his way into Viktor’s heart.

\--

When dinner had come to a close it was rather late given the state of jetlag-induced fatigue Viktor found himself in. They had chattered over their food for a long time, Phichit continuing to speak of some of the many adventures he and Yuuri had together when they were living in New York, and as they started to shy away from the nature of hip hop dancing and pole classes, Yuuri had started to contribute as well. It was exciting for Viktor, getting to learn more about what Yuuri had done before moving to Russia. His life here certainly had been rich.

They had walked back to the hotel with Phichit for a bit before parting ways. Yuuri and Phichit making quick promises that they would text and find another time they could hang out once more before Phichit was back to New York, and Yuuri was back to Russia. With a fast hug and a squealed out ‘ _it was so nice seeing you look so happy I couldn’t be more happy for you’_ from Phichit, which Viktor had elected to pretend he hadn’t heard, he and Yuuri embarked back to the hotel with Viktor’s arm slid around Yuuri’s waist until they too parted ways in the elevator for the night.

The day of the short programs rolled around perhaps a little faster than Viktor was used to, but he was eager nonetheless to begin the Grand Prix qualifiers. Having Yuuri present was interesting; a challenge to his focus to an extent though he knew there was little time to spend entertaining his self-indulgent whims, and wasting away the time until his skate with Yuuri. Though, Viktor knew he would certainly prefer that.

Viktor didn’t tend to watch many of the skater’s routines from the backstage area. He preferred instead to limber up and work through step sequences before it was his group. And he was focused, for what it was worth – he was disciplined during the prior practices and concentrated as he ran over his choreography in the crowded backstage hallway that parted for his whims. He wore his tracksuit jacket over his costume and trainers still on for the time being rather than skates. Both he and Yuri were in the final group of skaters for the day, as luck would have it, and so there was time for him to fill with practice until then.

But when productive ways to fill that time had evaporated and his options became entertaining the press that milled about backstage or worming his way into Yuuri’s attention, his choice was fairly obvious.

He found Yuuri with ease and stood just behind his shoulder where Yuuri had seemed to have more or less taken up post near the entryway of the rink from the backstage area. Viktor supposed that Lilia wouldn’t have much use for Yuuri right now, as last time he had caught sight of Yuri headphones had been firmly in place over his head while he warmed up.

Viktor resisted the urge to slide his arm around Yuuri like he wanted, or let his hand rest on the dip of his back. On the streets it wasn’t as likely there’d be a photographer milling around, but with press and eager fans who would pick up on the smallest of movements, he would prefer to not cause a ruckus. Their intent to keep things quiet still remained intact. Instead, despite knowing the answer, he quietly prompted, “Have you been watching many of the skaters?”

Yuuri nodded, glancing back at Viktor with a smile before turning his sights back out to the current skater, the last in the fourth group to present. From China, maybe. Viktor wasn’t overly familiar with him as he was young, perhaps only a little older than Yuri. But he had apparent skill. “He’s very elegant. You can see the discipline in his movements,” Yuuri observed, gaze following the young skater as he continued on.

“And he’s going backward,” Viktor pointed out playfully, which got him a gentle glare tossed his way before Yuuri was looking forward again, resting against the wall of the bleachers to his right.

“When do you skate?” Yuuri asked, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket to keep them warm from the chill of the rink.

“Second last to skate in the final group. Two after Yuri. Hopefully they won’t whisk you away?” Viktor asked hopefully, though he had a feeling any concern was for naught. Yuuri didn’t have to be involved in any of the press, and Viktor doubted very much that Yuri would want Yuuri’s help in any sort of stretching so soon after his skate.

“I’ll be watching,” Yuuri assured with a smile that made Viktor’s bones melt, “It’d be a shame if I got all the way here and then missed your first skate of the Grand Prix.”

“Definitely. I’m glad you’re here,” Viktor said, letting his hand drift for a moment to Yuuri’s hip, a casual enough movement that no one was going to notice it. Viktor was sure they were tucked away well enough anyway, with all attention on the skater in the kiss and cry. He let his hand rest there for a moment, thumb running lazily back and forth. Vaguely Viktor noted the scores and the placement so far, and the announcer indicating the break they would take to flood the ice before continuing with the second group.

After a long moment, Yuuri’s phone dinged, and he pulled it from his pocket enough to check the notification before putting it back in. “That’s Lilia, I have to go help with Yuri’s prep. So, um, if I don’t get a chance to catch you before you go on for your skate, good luck, Viktor,” Yuuri said, hand sliding down to Viktor’s, which had since withdrawn from Yuuri’s hip. Yuuri caught his fingers almost clumsily and gave them a hasty squeeze before he was pulling away again and retreating into the backstage area to seek out Yuri.

Maybe it was for the best that Viktor didn’t have a chance to find Yuuri before his turn to skate rolled around. He was sure he wasn’t going to be much in the mood for warming up when he could be chattering back and forth with Yuuri instead. Still, Viktor was focused on the task at hand and that was completing the short program. He watched Yuri’s skate from the television backstage as he settled into the proper mindset, headphones in to block out the chatter of others around. When the last skater before him, an Italian he wasn’t particularly familiar with either (Viktor was starting to realize that he  _really_ needed to be more social) he started out to the rink with Yakov at his side.

“This will be easy for you,” Yakov commented, and Viktor nodded as he pulled his headphones out of his ears entirely, wrapped the cord around his phone and shoved them into the pocket of his training jacket. With the garment handed off to Yakov for safe keeping until he came back, Viktor took to straightening his costume with care and ensuring everything sat comfortably.

“I’m impressed by Yuri, though,” Viktor said, fingers brushing through his fringe as he watched the end of the Italian’s program. “I just hope he’s okay with getting knocked down the podium once I go,” he continued on, as the audience loudly cheering for the end of the emotional, inspired performance. From what Viktor had observed it had been quite good, though he hadn’t seen as much as he might have liked.

Yakov snorted. “He should be happy to be in the contending for the podium in his first senior competition. I doubt very much he anticipates placing above you today. Maybe if he hadn’t flubbed his quad-sal,” Yakov said, and Viktor merely nodded his head in agreement. Still, it was perhaps the best he had seen Yuri’s short program yet. Not bad for its debut official.

As the previous skater settled into the kiss and cry Viktor slipped off his guards and passed them to Yakov before stepping onto the ice and rolling his shoulders, waiting at the boards for a moment as the gap between programs passed.

“Just go easy today,” Yakov told him, a hand resting against the wall between them. “There’s plenty of time for you to reach your top performance for these programs, so just use today to get warmed up.” Both of them knew that Viktor would do no such thing, but timing to peak at the finals was obviously the goal. Still, taking it easy wasn’t particularly Viktor’s plan as his glance slid over Yakov’s shoulder to where Yuuri stood, a little closer towards the front now than he had been earlier. There was a tiny smile of reassurance on his face that shrieked ‘good luck’ and a jumble of things Viktor couldn’t decipher in that moment. He merely flashed his own smile and a nod back, before looking to Yakov.

“Thank you, Yasha,” Viktor said with a nod. The announcer’s voice came over the speaker, and the arena was quiet just long enough for her to get Viktor’s name out before cheering erupted and Viktor pushed away from the boards with grace, making an easy loop around part of the rink. He always felt at home in this moment.

The audience drowned out to something of a dull roar as he breathed in and out slowly to centre himself, and came to a stop at the center for the ice. This was the easy part. The part that he had fallen in love with in his first competition and had never been topped by anything else. Not the press conferences, or photoshoots, nor the travel and sponsorships. His injury in the past had never managed to dull the shine of sharing his work with a crowd who was baited and eager to see. Viktor liked to perform and entertain. Now with Yuuri Katsuki standing on the sidelines and watching him for the first time, properly at least, Viktor was eager to do just that, and bring his program to life.

The movements at the beginning of his program were quite languid, as was the music.1 Drawn out and slow, Viktor glided about the ice in elegant sweeps with careful footwork and attention to the edge control. But, as he skated he tried not to get wrapped up in the technical elements lest he look robotic. The feelings that were so rooted in this season, knowing that he needed to surpass his previously held reign of five years and replace it with six… There was no room for error.

Viktor had crafted the program on a story, as all skaters did. But it had never entirely felt complete, and it still didn’t; had never reached a point of feeling full circle for Viktor. Missing something, searching for it but not sure what it was you needed, though he had an idea of what it could be. Then, as the strings joined with the piano, the momentum began to build – you knew what was missing now and it was a comfort you knew you needed but never quite had before. Viktor absently noted the sound of the crowd cheering as he gracefully landed a quad flip.

The strings continued to swell and build over the piano and he accentuated the momentum of the pieces with his own, beautifully executed jumps and carefully crafted spins – the chase to secure what you had found before it could slip away from you, because now you knew; you knew that a life without it was going to be so dull. A step sequence that suggested an end to the search because what had been missing was  _here;_  it was in reach now. It was yours.

But it was the ending that left Viktor uncertain. The pace of the music slowed again, the strings seeped away subtly at first until their absence was all he could feel in the music, drifting away from the piano that continued to pulse – that seemed to call out for their return. With the final few notes he eased out of a spin and moved slowly back toward the centre of the ice, an arm outstretched and the other against his chest, expression torn. Viktor didn’t know if this story ended in loneliness or with comfort found in the midst of it all.

He supposed in the theme of тоска it would have to be the former.2

Viktor eased out of his final pose. He steadied his breathing as he waved and smiled, a polished and practiced expression. After making a quick loop around the ice, scooping up a smaller bouquet of flowers tossed onto the ice before circling back toward the entrance where Yakov waited for him with jacket and skate guards in hand.

“Wonderful,” Yakov told him as Viktor steadied himself on the man’s shoulder, sliding the guards onto his skates before he draped his training jacket over his shoulders. “Your quad toe-triple toe could use a little cleaning up but your step sequence was better than usual. We’ll work on the entry to your final spin combination to tighten it before Moscow,” the coach continued to ramble on, and Viktor nodded as he made his way over to the Kiss and Cry, relieved when he was able to sit.

Viktor smiled and waved at the camera, before giving a similar treatment to the stadium that still hooted and cheered for him. He wished that he and Yuuri were public – wished he didn’t want to wait out the season to spare Yuuri from press harassment or fans prying. He wished he could be selfish, because he wanted Yuuri to sit with him at the Kiss and Cry too, instead of just having Yakov lecturing him in good nature about how he needed to watch his edges.

When his scores came on the screen it wasn’t necessarily surprising to him, nor to Yakov. As they had anticipated, he ranked in first and would most likely sit there until the end now. Viktor smiled, hugged Yakov tightly and gave one more wave to the camera before getting to his feet and leaving the Kiss and Cry for the green room and press. Much to his relief, it was kept quite short – questions on how he felt leading into the free programs, how he felt Yuri had done earlier in the day, and whether or not he had any intentions of retiring at the end of the season.

The ever present question now, it seemed.

When the final skater finished and the scores were finalized Viktor was happy but unsurprised that he maintained first place. After another round of press, he finally managed to tear himself away from them Viktor was happy to retreat to the dressing room and at the very least for a moment of quiet reprieve. He wanted nothing more to abandon the shirt of his costume for something a little cozier than the rhinestone encrusted design. It was beautiful and caught the light prettily while he skated. But he much preferred his more comfortable t-shirt to wear under his tracksuit jacket now instead.

“Viktor-“ Yuuri’s voice cut into his attention with ease as the man entered the dressing room, seemingly a little out of breath and Viktor wondered for a moment why, but soon Yuuri was grasping at his hands and holding them tightly. “That was beautiful,” he said, his eyes searching Viktor’s warmly with admiration clear on his expression. “I knew that it was going to be different seeing it all together, with the competition and the costume and the  _real_ performance but just…” Yuuri trailed off then, and instead shook his head.

Viktor couldn’t do anything but smile, heart hammering out of his chest, and he leaned down to press a kiss to Yuuri’s forehead. “I’m glad that you think so. And I’m glad that you were here to watch,” he said, giving Yuuri’s hands a gentle squeeze and the danseur shifted his hold to tangle their fingers together.

“I can’t imagine not being here now. Not many people can put on a performance like that. It’s… I mean, it’s impossible to look away,” Yuuri admitted, seemingly flustered by his own honesty as his cheeks flushed prettily as they often did, and it sent Viktor swooning, as it always did.

\--

Yuri Plisetsky might as well die trying to reach first with how hard he attacked Viktor’s short and free programs. There hadn’t been much conversation outside of the rink about the competition, as Viktor preferred to leave competition at the rink, and Yuri wasn’t interested in chatting about it either. So no one brought it up further than when discussing who needed to be where, and what needed to be done in advance. Yuuri as per usual stayed mostly with Lilia throughout the day of the free program, assisting Yuri with his stretches and warm ups as well as last minute critiques and advice on his choreography.

It was a surprise to Yuuri, however, when Yuri flopped down in a seat beside him and propped his feet up while Viktor took to the ice to complete his free skate, the last of the day. It was amusing to Yuuri in a way that the time between Viktor’s names was called and the ability to feasibly start his music was so much longer than the other skaters. The fans were rather polite but enthusiastic and sometimes a little (a lot) excessive. It would be foolish to try and start Viktor’s music with them still cheering. And so when the announcer called Viktor’s name and the man started out onto the ice, the stadium erupted into applause and fond calls. Yuuri settled comfortably into his seat and kept his eyes forward as Viktor settled into the centre of the ice and his starting pose, the first notes of the familiar aria ringing out.3

“You really like him, huh?” Yuri asked a moment later, the music still soft and melancholic, and only further accented by the sorrow in Viktor’s choreography.

“Sorry?” Yuuri stammered because he wasn’t quite sure he was awake rather than dreaming if Yuri was asking him about his relationship with Viktor. He couldn’t think of anything  _else_ that the teen could be inquiring about, Viktor being among the only mutual people they knew and certainly the only one relevant enough to discuss.

“You and Viktor. You like him,” Yuri said.

“I — yes?” It was a sort of odd conversation to be having with Yuri, who had seemed so indifferent if not impatient towards his relationship with Viktor from the very beginning. Yuuri supposed that, at the start, it made sense. Yuri thought that Viktor was merely interfering with his training, although not with wicked intent. But now it seemed that it would have to be a little more confusing if Yuri was still bothered by them. Now it was more than Viktor just wiggling his way into lessons and chatting at Yuuri over the boards while he assisted Lilia.

“Hmph,” Yuri hummed out, lips pursed as Viktor launched into his first jump combination. “He hasn’t had anyone in a long time, you know. He doesn’t take interest in people often.”

“That’s surprising,” Yuuri said, because he wasn’t sure if he could even believe that. Viktor had never mentioned any past partners, but Yuuri had thought it was more out of a common courtesy more than anything. He hadn’t exactly given Viktor his romantic record either, uninspired as it may be, either.

“Viktor doesn’t take notice of people that aren’t interesting to him. He doesn’t care - doesn’t have time to - if someone is dull or doesn’t have something to offer. I’m still trying to figure out what it is you’re offering him that he’s turned into an absolute idiot,” Yuri spoke simply, tone distant rather than malicious.

“I… I’m not sure-“

“I’m not asking you to tell me,” Yuri clarified, looking over at Yuuri pointedly. He held his gaze for a moment before looking back to Viktor who skated on, choreography more desperate now, yearning and unsettled. Grievous, even. “I don’t want to listen to you yammer on about loverboy like I don’t want to listen to him talk about you. Not my business, and I don’t really care,” Yuri told him, and Yuuri bit back his comment of _‘but you just said you were curious’,_  because he would prefer to keep all of his limbs attached to his body.

“So, um, what are you asking me then?” Yuuri tried, deciding that was a safe enough line of conversation to take with Yuri. He still looked ahead to watch Viktor glide about the ice before he settled into a spin combination, tightly controlled and beautifully executed – well, in Yuuri’s opinion. He imagined the judges felt the same, though.

“Nothing,” Yuri said, slouching further in his seat. “Just getting it out of my head. And I guess just…”

“Just what?”

“Don’t be surprised if he drops you at some point, I guess,” Yuri told him bluntly. Yuuri tried to ignore the way the thought made his chest sink because  _of_   _course_ he had thought about that before, had considered it for a very long time even before they had gone on their date together in the dog days of summer. “Viktor likes people that are useful to him,” Yuri’s voice interrupted his thoughts, drawing him back to the here and now, “And if you’re not really useful anymore, he wouldn’t want you around. So I guess I’m trying to figure out why you’re useful.”

“Oh,” Yuuri nodded slowly, swallowing thickly as Viktor launched into a jump at a flair in the music.

“Don’t look like I just kicked you in the side of the head. Maybe he won’t. Maybe it’s different,” Yuri started again after silence had stewed between them for a few seconds. “I mean, it’s weird because Viktor’s obsessions of what’s useful usually aren’t people. So you’re ‘special’ already. I just think it’d be shitty of him to drop you like he did his interest in other boring stuff so I’m… Trying to figure out if it’s going to happen.”

“Right,” Yuuri said, mouth feeling dry and throat tight at whatever feeling had settled into the pit of his stomach right now. Something like dread, maybe a bit of fear. He didn’t like the idea of being dropped by Viktor if he was no longer interesting, no longer valuable to him. Viktor wasn’t that sort of person, though, was he? Despite only knowing him since the spring it seemed unlikely that Viktor would just entirely discard him…

He had to hope, anyway. Had to hope that Yuri’s observations were more childish and based on the past than they were about anything of a realistic future. Yuuri wasn’t ready to brace himself for heartbreak because he had allowed himself be optimistic this time. Hopeful that they might be able to figure out how to make the distance between Moscow and St Petersburg work, and that their schedules might complement each other well enough it would be worth staying together.

Because with this new information, Yuuri’s fear over their inevitable separation took a front seat again. Distance wouldn’t be worth combating, hectic schedules not worth suffering through, if Viktor no longer had a sense of interest in him.

Yuuri stomped the feeling down. He wouldn’t worry about it – much – now because there was no evidence it would be true for them. Instead, he watched the last half of Viktor’s program with rapt attention. Watched the way Viktor moved through his jumps and spins with ease, the grace of his step sequence and the raw sensation of tense yearning each gesture exuded. More now so than ever, Yuuri identified with the choreography, saw himself in it. He knew that this sense of loneliness in the piece, having lost something great—

It was something he certainly didn’t want to experience.

\--

Viktor stood in the centre as photographers relentlessly captured the three medallists from Skate America – Yuri with silver around his neck and a furrow to his brow, and an unfamiliar – young – American with bronze who held his flag with pride and smiled hugely at the press before them. It was always an accomplished feeling to hear the Russian anthem play and see his nation’s flag in the middle, or take his victory lap around the ice before all of these press photos. No matter how many times he went through the pomp and circumstance, Viktor would always be proud of his accomplishment.

Though this time it certainly felt sweet because he was just a step closer to accomplishing what he had set out to accomplish his first season back following his injury. This gold was hopefully the first of three in this series – another in Moscow, and then one at the final in Barcelona to cinch the title of six-year Grand Prix champion. At the time, when he had made his shaky return, Viktor had thought this may be far off. He had thought, for a long time, that he may as well retire because he certainly wouldn’t come back from the injuries sustained.

Of course, Viktor had gained more confidence, settled back into the rhythms he knew from years of success. But it all still felt a little surreal to acknowledge it had the possibility of happening and he could surpass where he had been. Be better, come back stronger than he had been when he had stumbled and failed before. Maybe it was silly to still be hanging onto his goal. He had set new records in his time since the accident, laid out higher standards for figure skating as a whole since his post-injury return. Yet his drive to win this year, to prove it to  _himself,_ had not been dampened. Viktor only hoped that should he win this season, the doubts he held would finally be squashed once and for all.

When it was all said and done he said another quick congratulations to the American skater – Leo, his name was – and flashed a grin at Yuri before he exited the ice. He handed off the flowers to Yakov and thanked him as they started back towards the dressing room so he could change out of his costume and tuck away his medal into his suitcase. He took the time to put everything away properly, knowing that their flight left early and he would prefer to not be scrambling when they returned to the hotel for the sake of saving time now.

Press was brief following the medal ceremony, merely giving a few statements on the end results and expectations for the remainder of the qualifier events before. Viktor hated the questions of _'Mr Nikiforov, what will you do to celebrate your win tonight? Any parties to attend?'_ Because one, Viktor didn't go to many parties as a rule, he found them boring. And two, he couldn't tell them that he was eagerly waiting to return to the hotel to quietly celebrate his recent win with the boyfriend he wasn't telling anyone about out of preservation for the other man. Fans would go ballistic, and there were still more competitions to get through this season that Yuuri would be in attendance of. So instead, Viktor told them with a laugh that he had an early flight out, and would be happy to order room service and get some rest.

Time passed slowly between the medal ceremony and dinner, and dinner to the "Skating Spectacular", where he would perform his gala piece, but Viktor waited it out as well as he could. He performed his exhibition piece and then retired once again to the dressing room, eager to be wholly finished with the day.

As soon as he had changed and packed up the remainder of his belongings they were settled into cabs and en route back to the hotel. Viktor was thankful for the streamlined fashion of their commute. It was a blessing to evade the press outside of the venue, and as Viktor relaxed into the backseat of the car he produced his phone to send a quick message to Yuuri to let him know they were on their way back to the hotel now.

Yuuri had been at the medal ceremony, alongside Lilia for the majority of it, but Viktor hadn’t precisely had as much time as he would have liked to enjoy it with Yuuri. It was for the best, he supposed because he didn’t want press photos of him hanging off of Yuuri afterward and Viktor wouldn't have wanted to refrain from doing just that. They had made it through one event without Yuuri being dragged into an unnecessary spotlight. Yuuri had left with Lilia following the ceremony, however, foregoing oversight of the press conference to squeeze in some training.

And so now in the comfort of the hotel, Viktor was inclined to spend some much needed time with Yuuri.

He let Yakov lecture him gently in the elevator about being ready for the 4 AM wake-up call, and made quick work of showering, as well as sorting his bags and luggage for their early morning departure before embarking to the ninth floor in fresher lounge clothes.

He knocked on the door, having had the foresight to text Yuuri this time to ensure he wasn’t going to be intruding upon time spent with Phichit (the two had found time between days of skating to take to the city together, for which Viktor had been happy to hear – there wasn’t much for Yuuri to do during their practice days after all). Yuuri had texted him back to bring the medal and, happy to oblige the request, Viktor had slipped it around his neck before departing from the hotel room and embarking upstairs.

After a brief moment of shuffling behind the door it opened up and Yuuri ushered him inside with a smile. “Hey,” Yuuri greeted him softly. Viktor stepped into the hotel room as Yuuri made way for him, and once the door was closed behind Viktor, Yuuri slipped his arms around his shoulders in a tight hug. Hands finding their way to the small of Yuuri’s back, Viktor drew him in closer with a contented hum.

“Hi,” Viktor said, tilting his head down to get a proper look at the danseur. Moments like this had been few and far between since arriving in America out of necessity, and Viktor had missed how readily they were offered in Russia. Yuuri was affectionate, Viktor had learned in the last few months as Officially-Yuuri’s-Boyfriend, complete with affection privileges.

Yuuri was not clingy – he didn’t hang off of Viktor at every waking moment and he didn’t seek out an endless chain of kisses and hugs. Viktor decidedly might not mind if Yuuri was the sort to desire that, but found he much preferred Yuuri’s own brand of affection much more. Casual touches here and there as a reminder they were close, twining their fingers together, the way he would smile, or how Yuuri would settle in against Viktor when they ended up watching awful TV dramas over takeout dinners they would both refuse having eaten if questioned by Yakov or Lilia. All of the gestures were wonderful and made moments where Yuuri did instigate bolder affections feel more special.

Yuuri’s hand drifted to the nape of Viktor’s neck and guided him down with a smile, the kiss exchanged between them kept slow. Viktor’s hands moved to rest on Yuuri’s side as he pressed into it with a hum. If this was what he was greeted with for gold he might have a new reason to win. Yuuri pulled away after a moment though the fingers of his right hand stayed curled delicately into Viktor’s hair, playing with the ends of the locks. His left hand drifted down, pulling away marginally, to pick up the medal and study it curiously.

“I’m really proud of you,” Yuuri said after a moment of quiet, the medal left to rest against Viktor’s chest again as Yuuri took Viktor’s hand from his waist instead and guided him further into the hotel room. “I don’t think anyone else was expecting a different outcome, by the sounds of the press and all but, still – it’s really amazing to see it all come together,” rambled the danseur, leaving Viktor’s side for a moment to close a suitcase which had been left propped open against the desk.

“One down, two to go,” Viktor reasoned with a soft laugh, sitting down on the edge of Yuuri’s bed and pulling the medal off, casting it aside on the mattress. He opened up his arms with a smile. Yuuri obliged and came back to him, settling into Viktor’s lap and resting against his chest. They remained like that for a while, Viktor dragging his hand up and down Yuuri’s bicep before he spoke again. “You know what this means, though?” Viktor asked, studying Yuuri with a playful grin on his lips.

Yuuri stifled a groan and smiled instead, raising a brow. “What?” he prompted, because it was certainly easier, and more fun, to play along.

“I get to sit with you on the flight back,” Viktor hummed, kissing Yuuri’s cheekbone and nuzzling into him gleefully as Yuuri let out a laugh.

“You win gold at your qualifier and  _that’s_ what you’re thinking about?” Yuuri asked, brow raised.

“Of course,” Viktor returned easily, arms around Yuuri tightening as he drew him in closer still to his chest. “What else would have gotten me through? The thought of having to sit with Yakov again while I know you’re only a few rows away being ignored by Yuri?” Viktor gasped in mock horror, a peppering of kisses delivered across Yuuri’s jawline, neck and shoulder before he toppled back onto the bed, dragging Yuuri along. “Dreadful. I wouldn’t make it back to St Petersburg.”

“We couldn’t have that,” Yuuri huffed out a laugh as he tried to settle comfortably in their new position, shifting more to lay propped up at Viktor’s side rather than laying on top of him. “Seems like you’ve found тоска. Limited to the loneliness airplanes have to offer.”

“Mm, certainly. So you’ll have to sit with me on flights from now on so I don’t lose my inspiration,” Viktor said playfully, eyes trained steadily on Yuuri. “Deal?”

“Deal. I’m sure after the fuss you kicked in the airport in France Lilia won’t book me to sit with Yuri if she can help it,” Yuuri replied, a teasing edge to his voice as Viktor reached up to brush back his hair. Yuuri cleared his throat after a moment, adjusting the arm he had himself propped up on and falling silent otherwise. Viktor tilted his head toward him more pointedly.

“Hm?” Viktor prompted, urging him on. The look of hesitation on Yuuri’s face wasn’t unfamiliar. He wanted to ask something but wouldn’t unless directly asked. Viktor was slowly starting to understand the nuances of Yuuri’s personality.

“I was just wondering,” Yuuri started almost uncertainly, as though he had due cause to tread lightly, “If, ah... You were planning on sleeping before the flight…?”

Viktor let out a soft laugh, raising a brow. “I was going to squeeze in a nap, yes. I packed my bags for the morning before I came up,” he said, trying to see exactly where Yuuri was taking this. Yuuri was quiet for a moment longer before speaking again.

“Right. So… I mean, if you wanted to — so you don’t bother Yuri when you leave here, you could… Stay here tonight?”

“With you?” Viktor asked, unable to stop the smile that flooded his features.

“Just to sleep,” Yuuri reasoned, nervously working the fabric of Viktor’s sweater between his pointer finger and thumb of his free hand. “But. Yes. With me. It’d be nice. If you’d like to.” Viktor reached down to take Yuuri’s hand where he had been occupying his anxiety by rolling the material back and forth under his fingertips.

“I would like that,” Viktor assured him, keeping his grasp gentle so Yuuri could pull away, but pleased when instead Yuuri locked their fingers together and nodded.

“Great,” Yuuri near breathed out, and Viktor smiled as he craned his head upward to steal a kiss. He missed, lips landing instead of Yuuri’s chin but the sentiment was the same he was sure. Yuuri had a hard time asking for things, Viktor had understood this for a long time now – perhaps since one of their first lunch non-dates together in the spring. So it was exciting to see him open up more, get more comfortable asking things of him.

Besides, Viktor couldn’t think of many situations in which he would turn down Yuuri’s invitation to sleep over. He had spent the night in Yuuri’s apartment once but had opted for the couch out of politeness, given that their relationship had still been very new, and he hadn’t wanted to press his luck. The direct invitation certainly set him at ease knowing this was what Yuuri wanted.

“So,” Yuuri started, drawing Viktor out of his contented reverie. “Netflix until we pass out? We still have a couple episodes left in season two.”

“Sounds perfect,” Viktor affirmed. Yuuri nodded and pulled away, leaving the bed to retrieve his laptop and Viktor scooted upward to rest against the pillows at the head of the bed, arms folded under his head. He had a passing thought to text Yuri and tell him he wasn’t coming back to the room tonight, but ultimately decided against it on the basis that Yuri likely wouldn’t care in the least, perhaps not even notice.

Instead, Viktor let himself relax into Yuuri’s bed for the remainder of the night. Maybe there was more chatter and kisses exchanged here and there than watching their show, but everything felt incredibly at peace then. With his arms wrapped around his boyfriend and their current show to marathon running on Yuuri’s Mac, Viktor was content to finally have someone after all the press and celebration was over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 - The music to Viktor's SP is ["This Place is a Shelter"](http://https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wMSDPLOSHyQ) by Ólafur Arnalds  
> 2 - тоска is an "untranslatable" Russian term, most notably defined by Russian novelist Vladimir Nabokov. You can find Nabokov's definition [here.](https://www.goodreads.com/quotes/309633-toska---noun-t--sk---russian-word-roughly-translated-as)  
> 3- The music for Viktor's FS is ["E lucevan le stelle"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-GVRoRILVD4) from the opera Tosca, as performed by Jonas Kaufmann. Although I'm aware this is technically a tad too short for formal competition, we know Viktor has things specially composed and arranged. I like to believe the same is true in this case! 
> 
> edit: all of the links should be working now! sorry about that xx  
> \--
> 
> ohoho, mr plisetsky what did you do? also, did you know they do exhibitions after all the qualifiers? how tiring! 
> 
> as a sidenote, i think i'd like to up the rating of this work to mature. just to give myself a little more wiggle room with viktor and yuuri's interactions, and what might come down the road. if this horribly bothers a lot of you i might not, so let me know if you're wholly opposed haha. it would be upped for sexual content probably, but not so much so that we would move to explicit. let me know!
> 
> thanks as always for reading, feedback is appreciated. until next time, you can connect with me on [my tumblr](http://aphhun.tumblr.com/) or [my twitter!](http://twitter.com/aphhun/) see you!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we pack up and go to Moscow!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys! as you'll notice the rating has bumped up to mature. this chapter isn't the cause of that, but because no one had any objections, i've made the decision to go ahead with the rating change. as suggested, any scenes that are nsfw will have "skip" indicators, for your convenience. 
> 
> also we have some art now!! the absolutely wonderful and talented [piyo-13](http://piyo-13.tumblr.com/) drew a scene from chapter one, when viktor first sees yuuri. be sure to [check it out](http://piyo13sdoodles.tumblr.com/post/159329368751/holy-shit-breathing-was-he-breathing-did-he) and give iza your love!
> 
> please enjoy the next leg of the competition!
> 
> beta'd by the lovely, dedicated [snow_falls!](http://archiveofourown.com/users/snow_falls)

**Viktor Nikiforov Dominates Grand Prix Qualifier in America**

Russian figure skater Viktor Nikiforov continues to exceed expectations in the sphere of men’s figure skating, winning the gold medal at Skate America, the first of the Grand Prix Series qualifying events. Nikiforov, now 27, took the lead during the short programs and maintained first place after the free program, with a combined score of 314.53. While short of his combined score at the Grand Prix Final last year, fans speculate a new world record will be obtained by Nikiforov in the Final this December.

Nikiforov ranks as the number one skater in the world by the ISU standards after winning both the European and World Championships to close the previous season earlier this year. He currently holds the world record for highest scores in short program (117.32), free program (219.97), as well as overall combined score (335.76).

Fans and competitors alike speculate a retirement on the horizon from Nikiforov following this season. Having suffered an injury during the World Championships at age twenty-one that forced withdrawal from the next season, Viktor Nikiforov’s continued success in the sport is a story of shocking perseverance. Many believe that following this season, the six-year World Champion and current five-year Grand Prix Champion will consider retirement due to his age, and give way to a new generation of up and coming men’s figure skating, such as Nikiforov's young rink mate Yuri Plisetsky (15) who trailed Nikiforov in second place at Skate America with a combined score of..

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\--

The fact that Yuuri had to move back to Moscow eventually crossed Viktor’s mind from time to time. With the impending move on the horizon, it wasn’t necessarily easy to ignore that all of the hours of Yuuri’s training would amount to him returning to Moscow. But it hadn’t sunk in fully until he found himself sitting in Yuuri’s temporary St Petersburg apartment amidst boxes and a few smaller suitcases that were strewn about, sitting on the floor and scrolling through articles he had promised himself he wouldn’t read.

Viktor had noticed upon first being invited into Yuuri’s apartment months ago that there wasn’t much clutter – which made sense because this wasn’t his home so much as it was a crash pad between sessions of training. But there was certainly more to pack than Viktor had considered at first; bedding, cookware, small pieces of furniture, the bits and pieces of décor Yuuri had elected to bring, and  _clothes_ (which seemed endless, between street clothes and a few pieces of formal wear and training clothes).

Needless to say, Viktor had anticipated that when Yuuri asked him over to help pack up there would be less time trying to fit pots and pans into boxes, and more time spent cuddling up with his boyfriend before he had to leave.

“I’m going to miss this apartment,” Viktor whined lamely, back resting against the sofa as he sat on the floor and watched Yuuri move about the space, and he carefully wedged a cutting board in between a large mixing bowl and a pan in one of the moving boxes. “It’s so cute, and I’m never going to get to come back here.”

“I mean, unless you befriend the next tenant,” Yuuri supplied unhelpfully, pausing at the edge of the living room with a throw blanket over his arm and few bottles of cleaning supplies tucked into the other. “Do you think I could just throw all of this out? I don’t really want to bring them back to Moscow; I have all of this in my apartment there.”

“It’d save space,” Viktor said, before turning back to his wallowing over the situation at hand. “I don’t really know if you can just put bleach and blankets in the garbage though. Looks suspicious.” Yuuri let out an amused hum at that and draped the blanket over the back of a chair before heading toward the kitchen.

“Moving back is definitely harder than moving here. I didn’t realize I bought so much…”

“Stuff?”

“Yeah. Just _stuff_.”

They fell quiet again then, Yuuri shuffling about the kitchen to properly dispose of what he didn’t want, and Viktor went back to organizing and packing the pile of kitchenware he had dragged into the living room to box up for Yuuri. Vicchan had long since settled on the sofa behind him, the dog occasionally lifting his head to inspect what Viktor was doing, before going back to dosing. Makkachin too lounged about Yuuri’s apartment, though chose to tuck himself out of the way near the bed so his napping was left undisturbed. It had seemed rude, in Viktor’s eyes, to leave Makkachin at home.

Closing the box and pushing it to the side once it was finished, Viktor took to his feet then and retrieved the throw blanket that Yuuri had left behind earlier. He pulled it around his shoulders much like a cape before wandering into the kitchen as well, mostly empty now. Viktor slid his arms around Yuuri’s abdomen as he came behind him and slouched to rest his chin on the shorter man’s shoulder.

“I wish you didn’t have to go,” admitted Viktor, unable to help himself from feeling clingy at the idea of their separation. Yuuri paused for a moment before instinctively leaning back into Viktor’s chest and letting out a slow sigh.

“I know,” he agreed, shifting his arms in Viktor’s hold so he could finish straightening the contents of a box that held picture frames and general clutter. “But you’ll be going to Moscow soon too, you know.”

“Not soon enough. Yakov refuses to let me leave as early as I want to.”

“Which was when? Tomorrow morning with me?” Yuuri asked with a gentle laugh, abandoning his intent to continue packing while Viktor hugged him. Doing so wasn’t as easy in action as it had seemed in theory, and convincing himself to focus on Viktor instead was far from a chore.

“Yes,” Viktor replied, not beating around the bush with his answer. “I could practice there and find a hotel or something.”

“Mhm. But you don’t need to travel to Moscow a week in advance for the competition. It’s only a train ride away.”

“But I _want_ to,” Viktor reasoned, nuzzling into Yuuri’s shoulder as he let out a slow sigh. The warm puff of breath washed over the skin of Yuuri’s neck and shoulder and, if he hadn’t already, caused him to melt into Viktor’s hold. Yuuri turned around and rest his back against the counter, hands coming up to Viktor’s chest as he studied the pouting man.

“A week. You can handle a week, right?”

“Maybe,” Viktor replied finally, hands sliding down to rest on Yuuri’s hips. “It’s going to be boring without you.”

“You’ve survived without me before,” Yuuri said, and though the logic was borrowed from their favourite fifteen-year-old, it seemed reasonable enough.

“I know. That’s why I know it’s going to be boring,” Viktor countered, voice so earnest that Yuuri wasn’t sure if he wanted to roll his eyes at how big of a deal Viktor was making a week, or if he wanted to give into the urge to melt into Viktor’s flattery further. Yuuri supposed that after being together, at the very least exchanging words, near every day for nearly seven months it would be strange to be apart. But they had both known this was happening. Yuuri was just relieved Viktor didn’t seem to be eager for their long-coming separation. Unless he was just particularly good at hiding it and would blow Yuuri off when he was in Moscow but-

He tried not to entertain that train of thought, sponsored by anxiety.

“We can call each other in the evenings,” Yuuri offered, “And you can Snapchat me and I’ll try and remember to snap you back too. We can Facetime if you really want, but I doubt you’ll be that bad once we’re settled back into our routines and all…”

“You’re underestimating just how much I like having you around, Yuuri,” Viktor laughed, leaning forward to press his lips against Yuuri’s forehead, closing his eyes. “Because I really do. I won’t be able to focus with you gone,” he mumbled thoughtfully, rubbing slow circles with his thumbs on the sliver of accessible skin at Yuuri’s hips, between his sweater and tights.

“You’ll manage,” Yuuri said, though he wasn’t as convinced, and didn’t feel he needed to be. There was something comforting about the idea of Viktor missing him as dearly as he was going to miss Viktor. “Did you ask Yakov about coming for the debut?” Yuuri asked, after a few moments of silence had passed between them in the kitchen. It was with regret that he pulled himself away from Viktor while he spoke, knowing that he needed to keep packing or else it would never finish before he left in the morning.

“Not yet,” answered Viktor, fiddling with one of the cardboard flaps of a box on the countertop. “I’m working on the assumption that I won’t need permission to go to Moscow,” he said, and they both knew that it definitely wasn’t true. Viktor would at least have to run it by Yakov and endure a lecture or ( _maybe_ , if it was a good day) go with Yakov’s blessing instead.

“Be sure to ask him soon. Don’t forget to do it, either. He at least deserves to know what you’re doing if you’re still wanting to come,” Yuuri insisted from where he had taken to straightening up the boxes already packed up in the living room.

“I won’t miss it,” Viktor said stubbornly, “I’d like to stay until the 29th.”

“And why’s that?” Yuuri asked dryly, looking up at Viktor for a moment before he looked back to a moving box.

“Yuuri. Because it’s your birthday! And I want to do something with you to celebrate it.”

“I thought it wasn’t really a thing in Russia,” Yuuri offered in reply. The idea was appealing, but he didn’t want to keep Viktor away from training – particularly so close to the Final. It would be cutting it close if Viktor stayed with him in Moscow until his birthday.

“We celebrate them. Just not before the actual day – which is why I want to be there on your birthday. It’s bad luck, you know, to celebrate beforehand.”

“It’d be convenient,” Yuuri remarked, and Viktor let out a little huff as he came back into the living room to scoop up Vicchan. It was a novelty because, while he _could_ pick up Makkachin it wasn’t without great effort and a little more awkward maneuvering. Vicchan was a good size, and the dog nuzzled in rather contently.

“I don’t want to do what’s convenient. I don’t want you to be in Moscow spending your birthday alone while I’m just here, wasting away in St Petersburg where the winds get cold, and the nights are so, so long,” Viktor protested, although he assumed that Yuuri would certainly have people to spend the time with. People from the company seemed very friendly towards him if Yuuri’s social media was anything to go off of. Viktor just desperately wanted to be part of Yuuri’s birthday, and so he had to make his case here.

Yuuri snorted at the concept though, shaking his head as he came over to Viktor, and buried his fingers into the soft curls of Vicchan’s fur. “You’re a real drama queen, Viktor. It was near freezing yesterday and you weren’t wearing a coat.”

Viktor tried not to pout about how that was what Yuuri elected to focus on.

“Either way. I’m going to be in Moscow for your birthday,” Viktor decided, “So if you need to hide your other boyfriends, you have plenty of warning.” He winked, then moved to set Vicchan back down as he had grown restless of being held.

“Right, I’ll be sure to send out a notice to them all,” Yuuri let out an amused sigh, carding a hand through his hair before looking at the clock. “Now come on, there’s still a ton left to pack. We can debate later,” chided the danseur, and he went back to sorting out the remaining belongings scattered about the apartment.

In a matter of a few more hours of packing, sorting, then repacking a few bags to maximize the amount of space, the studio apartment looked downright sterile – the only traces of Yuuri being the boxes and bags near the doorway, and the few necessities for tomorrow morning left out and tucked away neatly on top of the coffee table. The walls and shelves now barren of the odds-and-ends and photographs that Yuuri had brought along, it almost didn’t look like the same space. It made Viktor a little sad, seeing it so devoid of Yuuri’s presence that had brought so much warmth and charm to the apartment. Now it just looked cold, too modern and straight-edged.

Yuuri, though, seemed relieved to be finished the task of boxing up his St Petersburg life and flopped onto the bed hosted on a little platform. “I can’t believe I had that much to do. I had been working at it all week but I didn’t think I had left that much until the last minute-” he murmured, arm over his face, glasses pushed up toward his forehead, and a yawn cutting off the sentiment. Viktor came to sit on the bed, tucking a leg under him as he settled on the edge.

“Should I go so you can sleep? You’re up early tomorrow,” Viktor noted, though his tone certainly indicated he wanted nothing more than to stay. It was too final – even if Yuuri would only be a few hours away, it made Viktor’s chest hurt.

Yuuri shook his head and lifted his arm to look over at Viktor. His glasses awkwardly sitting on his forehead, and so Viktor plucked them off carefully. “I thought you could stay over again, maybe? I know you don’t have a change of clothes, but-” came Yuuri’s simple request, enough to put a full smile on Viktor’s lips.

“I’ll stay,” Viktor assured Yuuri, “I’ll steal some of your clothes in the morning.”

“They’re not going to fit you,” Yuuri chided, lifting a brow as he studied Viktor. They might if Yuuri was a touch taller. But his frame was more slender than Viktor’s, and so the danseur didn’t imagine Viktor would want to wander back to his apartment come morning in a shirt that was too tight, or pants a few sizes too small.

“I’m stealing something from you anyway,” Viktor warned matter-of-factly, shifting to prop himself on his arm, elbow pressed into the bed behind Yuuri and hand cradling his head. “I saw that you have my good sweats _and_ two of my shirts. Don’t think you’re sneaky, Yuuri.”

“What are you robbing me of then?” Yuuri couldn’t help the playful glare he shot in Viktor’s direction, turning his gaze elsewhere for a moment. “My SAB hoodie would fit you, it’s comfy,” he added, more as an afterthought than anything else.

“You’ll want that for training,” Viktor offered, though that too had been his initial thought. He had been jealous of how cozy it looked too many times and, given the circumstance, he had a feeling there were few articles of clothing Yuuri would turn him down on. Still.

“I can manage without it. I’ll just wear your Team Russia sweater,” Yuuri said, before flashing a playful grin in Viktor’s direction and rolling over to retrieve his phone from where it sat toward the pillows at the top of the bed. Viktor, though, followed him with a huff.

“You have- Where did you hide that from me?” Viktor asked. Vaguely he remembered lending it to Yuuri one night when they were watching movies in Viktor’s apartment and it had gotten cold. He had thought he got it back, but evidently not.

“That’s a secret,” was Yuuri’s short reply, and though Viktor couldn’t see his face he heard the amusement in Yuuri’s voice, able to picture the smile spread on his boyfriend’s face. Viktor let out a whine and scooted closer, draping himself over the smaller man and burying his face in the crook of Yuuri’s neck.

“How am I supposed to be warm if you’re leaving _and_ taking all of my sweaters with you?” Viktor mumbled, and though it was supposed to be playful he knew his tone was more remorseful than anything. So maybe he was completely and totally going to wallow about this – some things just couldn’t be helped. On queue Yuuri twisted around, maneuvering until they were face to face. He still held his phone, arm awkwardly stuck between his and Viktor’s chest, but he couldn’t be bothered to move much.

“You still have Makkachin,” Yuuri reminded Viktor, and while it was certainly fair because Makkachin glued himself to Viktor’s side at all times, it was far from the same. “We have Rostelecom in a week,” Yuuri continued, tilting his head up to press a kiss to Viktor’s chin, “And then my debut three weeks after that-“ Yuuri paused to place another kiss on Viktor’s jaw, “-and my birthday a few days after…”

“Come to the final, in December,” Viktor requested quietly, hand sliding down Yuuri’s side before it came to rest on his leg. “I’ll arrange it, you won’t have to worry about anything.”

“Viktor…” Yuuri started, and Viktor moved to press his forehead against Yuuri’s.

“Vitya,” said Viktor, fingers tracing idle patterns along the side of Yuuri’s thigh and to his hip. “Call me that from now on instead, yeah? I’d like that.”

Yuuri smiled softly and nodded. “Vitya, then,” he began again, leaning in to kiss Viktor softly. “Don’t make more trouble for yourself than you have to. It’s easier if it’s just you and your staff.”

“I want you to be there. It’s not hard to arrange and I would like to share it with you, if you’re able to go,” Viktor explained, before tagging on with a lazy smile, “I think you’re good luck.”

Yuuri paused for a moment, but then let out a quiet laugh and closed his eyes. His form seemed to relax under the soothing nature of Viktor’s touch, hands still wandering along his side and leg.

“You were setting records and winning gold medals way before me, Vitya,” Yuuri said, trying the new name on his tongue and finding he quite liked it — it felt much softer, and the apparent happiness it brought to Viktor’s demeanour was well worth it. “But I’ll go. We don’t have production during it. I could book the flight though, it is hard to- _mmph_ -“

Usually, Yuuri didn’t like being cut off mid-sentence by kisses. He found it a little awkward at times, and generally, the impulsivity had never exactly been his sort of affection. But he found himself swooning this time, and couldn’t do much more than let himself relax further and kiss Viktor back with a content sigh.  There was something slightly more eager about it than usual — hungry for contact and affection before it was stolen away by hectic schedules and distance.

“Thank you,” Viktor spoke between rounds of kisses, hand resting still on Yuuri’s hip while the other ran slowly through dark hair, nails dragging lightly against Yuuri’s scalp. “I’ll take care of everything. I just need you there. I want you to stay with me.” Viktor’s lips were as gentle and tender as they were needy, almost hasty as he deepened the kiss.

“I’m yours, then,” Yuuri replied, breathing out the words like a prayer. It was then Viktor’s hand left Yuuri’s hair in favour of pressing into the bed so he could lean over Yuuri instead, the danseur followed the move and slid his arms around Viktor’s shoulders, phone long since forgotten on the mattress nearby.

It was an eternity and not nearly long enough of kissing and exploring the other leisurely when Viktor pulled back. Stopping was getting more and more difficult lately but they hadn’t discussed anything of that nature yet, and Viktor also thought that perhaps further actions should be saved for when they both weren’t this emotionally charged, and their dogs weren’t trying to hop up onto the bed as well.

So instead Viktor took his time and let his eyes roam Yuuri’s features, taking in each detail he had long since memorized. Maybe it was foolish he was this wrapped up in the fact that Yuuri was leaving the city. But in the same breath, he felt it was warranted. Since Yuuri had come into his life in April – and Viktor couldn’t begin to explain how it felt like Yuuri had been here since the beginning – everything had changed. He was happier, driven, inspired – engaged in a life that wasn’t so much about surpassing what had been but rather looking forward to what could be, regardless of what lay behind.

The simple sentiment to surmise it all burned on his tongue, but Viktor pressed it back. For Viktor, it had been true for a long time that he loved Yuuri. It had happened slowly yet taken him by storm and only increased tenfold in the past three months of calling himself Yuuri’s boyfriend. But he didn’t want to have Yuuri think he was only saying it because he was emotional they were going their separate ways for now. Viktor didn’t want to say it if that was the reason, either. It had to be right when he said it because Yuuri deserved nothing but sincerity.

So he hoped his eyes and the way his fingers curled where they cupped Yuuri’s jaw said it enough for him. Hoped that they conveyed what he left unsaid for now.

“It won’t be long,” Yuuri said finally, voice quiet as he reached up to brush a hand through Viktor’s fringe. “But I really am going to miss you too.”

Viktor smiled and took one last kiss before he sat back on his knees, taking Yuuri’s hand and twining their fingers together. “You should try to sleep,” Viktor said, glancing at the time on the clock, then leaned over to kiss Yuuri’s temple. “I’ll take Vicchan and Makkachin out while you get ready. I’ll be back.” Yuuri squeezed Viktor’s hand gently before reluctantly letting go, sitting up on the bed and checking the time on his phone as Viktor put leashes on both dogs and started downstairs.

When he returned (having taken a little longer than he might have preferred due to Vicchan’s excitement over a late night pedestrian and their dog) Yuuri was already dozing, half under the covers of the bed, lights of the apartment still on. Viktor turned them off, not taking long for the small space.  He pulled the blankets back to slide in next to Yuuri once he was ready to sleep as well, and as he paused while Yuuri let out a tired hum and curled against him—

Viktor knew it would be one hell of a week knowing he wouldn’t get another moment like this.

\--

> **5:37 PM [Vitya]:** We just landed so I should be there soon. Whenever I can escape from the hotel without being mauled. I’ll let you know when I leave from there
> 
> **5:38 PM [Yuuri]:** i still don’t understand why they booked you a flight
> 
> **5:38 PM [Yuuri]:** from sp to moscow? it’s like 50 minutes
> 
> **5:53 PM [Vitya]:** LOL ))
> 
> **5:53 PM [Vitya]:** It’s actually an hour and a half thank you
> 
> **5:56 PM [Yuuri]:** yeah yeah
> 
> **5:57 PM [Yuuri]:** excited to see you though  <3

\--

Arriving in Moscow was always a little crazy. Viktor had been assigned to the Rostelecom many times over the course of his career, and it seemed that every year there were more and more people looming around the airport and venues. He appreciated the enthusiasm, would pause when he could to say hello or take a photo, but more often than not there were cars waiting for him and itineraries crafted by Yakov to adhere to. The older man seemed to hold the opinion that it wouldn’t be farfetched for a fan to genuinely injure Viktor at some point if things got out of hand. Viktor wasn’t sure if he agreed – but he wasn’t going to chance it.

Rushing was an understatement though when he returned to the hotel. Unpacking was necessary and, despite the very short flight, it seemed only polite to shower and freshen himself up before leaving. Yuuri had supplied him with his address long ago, and Viktor was impatient the entirety of the drive over there. The lobby had been quieter than he had been expecting, he was able to slip out quickly and get a cab. For the entirety of the car ride there, he was just impatient, texting Yuuri to let him know that he was close and _‘Why can’t the driver go a little FASTER WE’RE SO CLOSE YUURI!!’._

So maybe the last week had been just as hard as Viktor had expected. And maybe that was a little sad because it was just seven days. But to be honest, he felt much better knowing that he was going to see Yuuri even if it would be fleeting with both of their workloads at the moment. Tonight though, he was absolutely not going to think about that.

He paid the driver too much when the cab was stopped in front of Yuuri’s apartment building, nicer than the place he had been living in St Petersburg, and something about that made Viktor happy – knowing that Yuuri would definitely be safe in the more secure building here than his temporary home had been. Viktor punched in the security code Yuuri had sent him and then started on the stairs up to Yuuri’s floor. The elevator here was broken and had been apparently for longer than any of Yuuri’s neighbours could remember. At least Yuuri was only on the third floor of the building, and Viktor certainly had enough drive to get up the flights of stairs.

The hallway was short and Viktor smiled automatically when he heard the door being opened before he even arrived at it. Then Yuuri was peeking out from behind it before opening it entirely, and coming out in a rush, with Vicchan on his heels, to wrap his arms around Viktor. He merely opened his arms and then pulled Yuuri into his chest, accepting the warm embrace without a moment’s hesitation. This was what he had been craving from the moment Yuuri had left. Viktor buried his nose into Yuuri’s hair and breathed in slowly, tightening his arms around him.

“Mmm, I missed you,” Yuuri confessed quietly, fingers gripping the fabric of Viktor’s jacket. Then he lifted his head, raising up on his toes. Viktor had been prepared for a kiss and was only a little burned when instead Yuuri looked over his shoulder and then rocked back onto his heels. Yuuri’s hands trailed down from Viktor’s shoulder blades to his hands, holding them as he said, “But my neighbour is most definitely watching us out of her peephole right now. So…” and tugged Viktor toward the still open door of his apartment.

The apartment space was definitely more Yuuri than the St Petersburg studio apartment had ever been. There were more personal touches, Viktor could tell that at a quick glance around. It was small, more cramped than his apartment but he had anticipated as much. It was more lived in too, far less sterile than the studio looked, in fear of ruining it in the short time he would spend there. No, it looked much cozier. Closer to a home where Yuuri could come, be at peace of body and mind, than St Petersburg. Naturally, Viktor was instantly smitten with the glimpse into Yuuri’s world.

“This is really nice,” Viktor said, taking off his coat and hanging it near the door as Yuuri ushered Vicchan back inside quietly in Japanese. Indulging the excited poodle, and filling the Makkachin shaped void in his heart (it had been deemed unfair to bring Makkachin given the schedule, and so he had a friend checking on his dearest child instead), Viktor sank down onto his knees and cooed at Vicchan how he had _‘missed you too, of course!’_

“Yeah,” Yuuri said, resting against the wall by Viktor and Vicchan, “It’s a little nicer than where I was in St Petersburg. Better neighbourhood, not as tiny.” Which, wasn’t saying much, though Viktor noted that it wasn’t a studio and there was no cleverly hidden bed in the layout but instead a short hallway opposite from the kitchen and dining room space, the living room tucked in the middle of them with two generous windows. The view was nothing spectacular, but Viktor imagined the light they would let in throughout the days would be nice.

Viktor took to his feet after a moment, offering Vicchan one last rub behind the ears before he let out a contented sigh and opened up his arms for Yuuri again. Much to his pleasure Yuuri indulged him and came to rest in against Viktor’s chest. It seemed like a waste to have Yuuri more than an arm’s length away right now. It would (maybe) lessen over the next few days, but Viktor felt that being a little clingy was fair. Yuuri didn’t seem to mind, if how eagerly returned the embrace was anything to go by.

“What did you want to do?” Yuuri asked, a teasing glint in his voice as he continued on. “Are you all tired from your big day of travel?”

“Just exhausted,” Viktor wailed lamely, layering on the theatrics as he leaned forward to slump against Yuuri. There was a squawk of surprise from the shorter man that really should have sounded unattractive, but Viktor couldn’t find it anything but endearing even if he tried. Yuuri shifted his grasp on Viktor to prop him up, only a little awkward because of their height difference. If they were the same height Yuuri thought that he might handle it with more grace, given half of the things he was able to do in ballet. But Viktor _was_ taller and built more broadly than he, so awkwardly fumbling to hold his boyfriend up it was.

“Right,” Yuuri huffed, taking a half step back so he could pull his head back and look at Viktor, a brow raised. “What do you want, then?”

“Food,” Viktor decided, before continuing with a grin. “And a kiss. I got more from Vicchan than I got from you so far, you know.” Yuuri wasn’t good at denying Viktor many things and he didn’t see why on earth he would deny himself either, and though not in that order, Yuuri was happy to please. They spent a few moments back and forth on what food they wanted, as much chattering and scrolling through google as they could manage between kisses scattered over lips, cheeks, and jaws. Finally, they had settled on a restaurant a short walk away that Viktor had never tried before but Yuuri had heard good things about from his coworkers.

With coats back on and a quick goodbye to Vicchan, they were on their way to the restaurant and chattering easily. It was nice, and felt hugely different than their first real date when Viktor had tentatively taken Yuuri’s hand nervously and braced himself for the other pulling away. It felt natural, how comfortable they were now, walking down the street with Viktor’s arm around Yuuri’s waist to keep him close. He couldn’t imagine being any other way with Yuuri now that he had this – wouldn’t want to have to imagine it, either.

They settled into a booth in the restaurant rather quietly. Viktor noticed that the hostess recognized him, but was thankful nothing was really said on the matter and instead they were promptly led to a booth toward the back of the dining area. He settled in across from Yuuri, thanking their hostess with a smile before turning his attention to the menu and idle conversation that was passed back and forth with Yuuri.

It seemed though, that the universe liked to throw a wrench into the time they got to spend together.

“So this is why you were ignoring my phone calls all night, huh?” Viktor’s head snapped up at the unfamiliar voice and he looked to the side, just slightly behind him before he broke into a broad smile. Christophe Giacometti looked the same as ever, maybe better, dressed in a sleek button up and tailored trousers that hugged him in all the right places. His coat was still on, and so Viktor wasn’t sure if he was coming or going, but now it seemed like he was here to stay.

“I didn’t know you had,” Viktor confessed to his best friend, angling himself in the booth so he could address him more easily. He fished his phone from his pocket and made a face at the _Chris (12 Messages)_ and _Chris (2 Missed calls)_ , as well as _Chris (FaceTime Missed call)_ notification on his screen. So maybe he had forgotten to turn it off ‘do not disturb’.

“So cruel,” Christophe lamented, but his attention was already moving on to the next order of business, which didn’t surprise Viktor in the least. “Is this him?” asked Christophe, lapsing easily into French. It took Viktor a moment to catch up before he nodded his head.

“You don’t need to be so secretive about it,” Viktor replied in French despite the sentiment, “I told you that he was back in Moscow.”

“How could I forget? You were an absolute pest all week, whining about it.”

Viktor closed his eyes and smiled a tight smile, which Christophe laughed at before turning his sharp gaze, not hidden at all by the round frames he wore, to Yuuri.

“Christophe Giacometti. I’ve heard so much about you, Yuuri. Who would have thought Viktor could like something other than gold medals and poodles?” He offered a hand to Yuuri as he spoke, having closed some of the short gap between himself and the booth Viktor and Yuuri occupied.

“It’s nice to meet you too. Vitya’s told me about you.” That wasn’t an entire lie – Viktor had told Yuuri that Christophe existed by way of scattered stories, and Yuuri had been able to fill in the rest through Instagram posts to understand they must be close. So Yuuri’s expression was polite, hesitant and reserved, as he extended his hand. Viktor saw the moment a flicker of confusion crossed Yuuri’s face while Christophe lifted his hand and pressed a kiss to his knuckles with a wink rather than shaking it. Viktor wished that he had known Christophe would turn up, seeing as he would have told Yuuri at least what to anticipate.

Christophe had been Viktor’s best friend for years, nearly a decade he was sure. They had gotten close quickly, faster than Viktor tended to let people in. It was hard to resist Christophe’s charm, odd as it may be. They had met for the first time when Viktor was sixteen and Christophe was fourteen, fresh-faced and eagerly awaiting his debut for the senior division in the next season. From that point onward, Viktor and Christophe had been near attached at the hip at these events. As they had grown they had grown together if anything, learning each other’s quirks as they advanced into adulthood, and standing by each other through trials and tribulations.

Trials such as the line of kisses Christophe ran up toward Yuuri’s wrist with a chuckle, and Viktor cleared his throat noisily and smiled. Christophe’s gaze shifted over to him with a grin, and he let go of Yuuri’s hand, his own hands sliding into the pockets of his trousers. The grip Viktor hadn’t realized he had on the leg of his pants loosened. Best friend or not, Christophe was a pesky flirt.

“Were you eating here?” Viktor asked, gaze flickering over to Yuuri to get a read on him before looking to Christophe. It was unlikely that their date was going to remain a date now – Viktor couldn’t very well turn Christophe away, especially after he had promised that Christophe could meet Yuuri finally now that they were all in one place.

“It is a restaurant,” Christophe said, flashing an easy smile at Viktor before continuing, “Though I was here alone.”

“No Stefan?” Viktor questioned. It wasn’t unusual for Christophe to travel without him, particularly for the qualifying competitions. Christophe huffed his way into a pout.

“No,” he confirmed, “He was _going_ to come with me but ultimately the timing just didn’t work out,” Christophe explained, before looking back to Yuuri with an easy smile, “My boyfriend. He’s an ice dancer, and too busy to come support me.”

“So theatrical,” Viktor sighed softly, though his smile remained.

“You could join us, we haven’t ordered yet,” Yuuri offered, exchanging a quick look with Viktor as though to make sure it was okay, before looking back to Chris, whose expression was alight at the offer. Viktor wondered if this was how Yuuri had felt when Phichit had started to tell him all of the embarrassing stories Yuuri had from New York – he could feel the vague, pre-emptive regret settle into his stomach.

“I’d love to,” Christophe said, because of course, he would, and he slid into the booth next to Viktor, who shuffled over to accommodate his friend. Even though he didn’t trust Christophe to not be embarrassing, Viktor was very happy to see him. Once he had settled into the booth Christophe levelled his gaze with Yuuri like one might an old friend and asked, “How are the preparations for your debut coming?”

“Oh,” Yuuri let out in surprise, likely because Viktor had never really mentioned how much he spoke to Christophe, or how thoroughly he tended to outline his life to his best friend. “Really well. The, ah, first few days back were a little shaky trying to bring everything together but it’s all blending now – settling in as it should,” rambled Yuuri in reply, and Christophe rested his elbow on the table.

“It’s such a shame that it isn’t a little sooner. With how much Viktor has been gushing about you, I’d love to see you dance. Viktor says you can move beautifully.” There was a certain teasing purr to Christophe’s voice Viktor knew was slanted towards him, and he merely hoped that Yuuri either didn’t pick up on it, or had the ability to ignore it all together.

“A lot of very precise training,” Yuuri replied humbly, bowing his head politely before righting himself. “I’m sorry to say that I’ve never seen any of your programs – between everything else, my research on other skaters has been very slow,” admitted Yuuri, to which Christophe smiled easily. Wolfish.

“I’ve heard Viktor keeps you very busy,” he said, resting his elbow on the table and leaning forward easily. “And of course with little Yuri, too. It’s a good thing that they called in Lilia to train hm, I think. Viktor was originally supposed to help coach him – did you know?”

Yuuri shook his head, glancing over at Viktor curiously, “I didn’t.”

“Mmh,” Christophe hummed out, “Yakov would be Yuri’s coach full time of course. But after choreographing Yuri’s short program they entertained the idea of Viktor getting some coaching experience. He’s an old man in figuring skating by now,” Christophe said teasingly, and Viktor sent a look in his friend’s direction.

“An old man who’s still ahead of you,” Viktor quipped in reply, tone good-natured. This was the sort of banter he was used to with Christophe.

“That doesn’t hurt my feelings, Vitya. You’ve always come before me, we both know that.” Viktor cleared his throat. Christophe grinned because he had won that round, and instead looked back over to Yuuri to finish his story, “So Yakov thought he’d start grooming Viktor to coach, anyway. But I think he’d be awful at it with Yuri. They’re both too…”

“Much?” Yuuri supplied when the other failed, though he still seemed to be trying to catch up on the exchange between the two men across from him. How Viktor had managed to hide a friend as close as Christophe was beyond Yuuri, but it was nice. He was happy to see that Viktor _did_ know other skaters because he had seemed quite lonely in America.

“Definitely. They’re both too much. In a good way, though, of course. Is Yuri at Rostelecom too?”

“No, China,” Viktor said.

“Pity. I would have loved to see his programs,” Christophe murmured, brows pinching thoughtfully.

“You’ll see them at the final. Assuming you wrangle your way there. He certainly will,” Viktor said, and Christophe tilted his head back and forth for a moment in thought.

“It’d be awfully boring until European’s if I didn’t,” Christophe concluded, seeming to arrive at his decision easily. Yuuri found something about him eclectic. Sort of a quintessential European sort with his fine clothes, bright eyes, and sharp features. Christophe turned his sights ahead again and looked across the table to Yuuri, a smile on his face. “So, has Viktor told you about France in 2011?”

Viktor knew it was going to be a long dinner.

\--

Much to Viktor’s relief, Christophe wasn’t absolutely uncontrollable throughout dinner. He told embarrassing stories that Viktor might have preferred never reached the light of day. Most of them seemed to reflect more on Christophe than himself at the end, and so he couldn’t be too bothered about it all. Yuuri seemed entertained throughout the entirety of it too, so that made his mild embarrassment worth it.

Christophe and Yuuri got along well, actually. Viktor wasn’t sure why it came as such a surprise to him (he had never seen Yuuri have someone not like him) but it sent a sense of warmth into his chest. He may not be close to his family, but his friends were dear to him. Christophe was among the closest of those friends, having stood by him for many years, through _many_ downfalls and episodes of _‘maybe I’ll just quit’_ and _‘I can’t do this’_. Christophe was good at picking up Viktor’s pieces and patching them back together without being asked to do so, occasionally without Viktor even realizing that he needed it.

And so when Yuuri and Christophe chattered on happily with each other over dinner, and then as the three of them toured around the immediate area of Moscow, Viktor couldn’t help the blooming affection in his chest.

“I like him,” Christophe said as he fell in line with Viktor when Yuuri had stopped off to retrieve tea and coffee for them, to fight off the night cold.

“Me too,” Viktor replied simply, looking over at Christophe with a faint smile.

“He’s good for you. And I bet you’re good for him,” Christophe said wistfully, looking toward the crowded coffee shop where Yuuri waited by the counter, a sliver of him visible through the windows.

“I hope I am,” Viktor confessed, hands in his pockets. He licked his lips before speaking again, “I think that it’s special this time.”

Christophe laughed. “’This time’ as compared to what? You haven’t dated anyone seriously in years.”

“That’s what I mean,” Viktor said dryly, looking toward the coffee shop window. “I think it’s different than a date here and there. And it’s different than the people I’ve dated seriously. It doesn’t feel like any of those ever did. It’s…” he trailed, and so Christophe supplied-

“Love. It’s love, Viktor. Don’t dance around it. I could tell that’s what it was back in August when you were worried about which belt looked best with your outfit,” Christophe continued on with an easy smile. “It’s new for you, isn’t it?”

“Very new,” Viktor admitted.

“Scary?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” Christophe said watching the coffee shop window before looking over to Viktor momentarily. “Hold onto him, then. He’s good for you if he’s drawn all of this out of you. You deserve someone like Yuuri.” As though on cue, Yuuri stepped out of the coffee shop with three drinks wedged into a paper tray, crossing the short gap to where Christophe and Viktor loitered by a bench and street lamp. “You’re such an angel,” Christophe told him once he was close, taking the tray off of Yuuri’s hands and distributing the drinks before discarding it in a waste bin nearby.

“Hopefully this will help edge off some of the cold,” Yuuri said with a smile, pulling back the plastic tab on his to-go cup’s lid. They continued walking along for a while, making idle chatter about how the other qualifiers had gone so far, as well as how the Bolshoi’s season was going. They had nearly finished their drinks, fingertips numbing from the cold night when Yuuri spoke with a sigh. “We should probably start back towards your hotel. It’s late, and you both have practice tomorrow, right?”

“The hotel is so boring,” Viktor lamented, though he started to walk with both men, Yuuri in the middle and Viktor’s free hand resting on his back, while Christophe sipped on his latte while walking up the outside edge of the sidewalk.

“You shouldn’t argue with him, Vitya,” Christophe critiqued with a faint grin, and then switched easily into French, “Your master might have to discipline you if you’re bad.” Viktor wanted to know where Christophe got half of his ideas because _he_ had certainly never referenced Yuuri as his master – though he would treat him as such if that was what Yuuri wanted, probably…

Instead of vocalizing this, Viktor’s brows pinched and he looked over Yuuri’s head toward Christophe. “Don’t be rude,” he said in French, before going back to English because he didn’t want to have Yuuri left out of the conversation. “We’ll have to get dinner or something again before Rostelecom is over.”

“Absolutely,” Yuuri said with a smile, as the official hotel came into view. “I have some free time, so you should just let me know and we can meet up? I’d love to spend some more time with you both.”

“And I you,” Christophe returned, holding the door open when they arrived. Viktor ushered Yuuri inside first before his hand fell away from the danseur’s back out of caution more than anything. He would prefer to avoid the risk of anyone taking too much notice that despite Yuri’s absence, Viktor was still very much entertaining Yuuri’s company.

He had seen a few photos of them together during Skate America, watching the earlier programs together on the day of the short programs. Though most people didn’t seem to think much about it, there were always the few who did jump to conclusions – conclusions that, in this case, were correct. Just not in any state to be confirmed.

“I’m off, then. Stefan wanted me to call him before it got too late here, and you know how he can keep me going for hours,” Christophe said mostly to Viktor, adjusting the scarf around his neck that peeked out from his jacket. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Viktor. And you, Yuuri, I hope to see much more of,” Christophe turned his attention to Yuuri with those words, leaning down to hug him and kiss both of his cheeks before doing the same to Viktor. “Goodnight, you two,” Christophe said in a sing-song, before departing toward the elevator ahead of them, phone already in hand.

“I really should go too. I have an early call time tomorrow,” Yuuri said regretfully. Though they hadn’t had as much time alone together as they had thought, it had been a good evening. Viktor couldn’t bring himself to want to part, however. Now that he had Yuuri close again he most certainly didn’t want to let go.

“You could sleep over,” Viktor suggested, reaching for Yuuri’s hand with a hopeful smile. The danseur indulged him by grasping his hand back delicately, thumb rubbing back and forth over Viktor’s knuckles.

“You know that I would love to,” Yuuri said, and the impending ‘but’ hung in the air between them for a moment, and so Viktor spoke instead.

“Some other night, while we’re both here. And I mean, I’m back in Moscow for your debut – you better not think I’m staying in a hotel then,” he told Yuuri, who let out a quiet laugh.

“Of course not. Vicchan and I are happy to host you. But I really do have to get back to him and let him out and get some sleep before tomorrow. Text me when you’re finished for the day too? We can make dinner at my place if you’d like to,” Yuuri said, before closing the gap between them to kiss Viktor’s cheek. His lips were light against Viktor’s skin, he could feel the curve of their smile before he saw it when Yuuri pulled back.

“That’s perfect,” Viktor said with a satisfied smile. The remainder of their parting was brief, waiting in comfortable quiet for Yuuri’s cab to arrive and a brief goodbye with a stealthily exchanged kiss before the cab pulled away from the sidewalk, and Viktor went back into the hotel, bound for the elevator. His room was lacklustre but private this time, no one from the Russian team stationed here to share it with him. He would have bought it out anyway, he had decided.

Viktor changed into lounge clothes and set his alarm for the morning, before strolling over to the window. The skyline of Moscow had always felt foreign to him. Though so close to his own city, so vastly different from what he was accustomed to. He would always prefer St Petersburg at heart, knowing those were the streets that had been home to him. But part of him had to acknowledge that, knowing Yuuri’s cozy apartment was settled in the urban sprawl of the city?

Maybe it felt a little more like home than usual.

\--

Competing with friends was more fun for Viktor. It occurred to him that it would be easy enough for him to make friends so competing without friends was impossible – Viktor wasn’t oblivious to the attention he received from other skaters. But having a smaller inner circle suited him better, and it always had. He was extroverted by nature but the idea of having so many people to entertain, and keep up with, was exhausting to him.

Regardless, having Christophe at Rostelecom was more than welcome. Christophe’s style was always an interesting and welcome contrast to his own. Viktor could be sexy on the ice and had been for many seasons. With the right look and the most subtle of movements, Viktor knew he could send the stadium into bouts of swooning and screaming. But Christophe?

He was special. Very special, and no one would ever rival him in the department of raw sex appeal. Viktor supposed that it might be a by-product of him having wanted any excuse to seduce his choreographer, years ago when Stefan had been hired onto Christophe’s team. But now it was a staple, and people loved him for it. Viktor could only stand back and admire, truly. Yuuri…

“Oh my _god_ -“

Yuuri wasn’t as used to this. As they watched Christophe’s short program unfold together Viktor had to work to hide his amusement at his boyfriend’s reactions. Viktor crossed his arms over his chest in an attempt to keep his hands to himself, as there was far more attention on him here in Moscow, shifting his weight back and forth from foot to foot. “I told you, Christophe is his own genre,” Viktor reasoned, eyes fixed where Christophe danced across the ice in a way truly only he could.

“I know, but I wasn’t expecting it to be this...” Yuuri trailed off slowly.

“Sexy?”

“Sexy.” Yuuri shook his head and let out a little laugh.

\--

“He’s really remarkable, isn’t he?” Christophe’s voice had an edge of swooning to it that Yuuri wasn’t unfamiliar with. After the short programs, Viktor had been in first, as expected, setting a season’s best to follow up the program’s debut in America. Christophe sat in second place now after his free program, having moved up from fourth after the short. He was guaranteed a place on the podium and at the Grand Prix Final, and so an air of relaxation radiated off of him as he came to stand beside Yuuri.

“Of course,” Yuuri replied, not hesitating for even a moment. No one could debate the quality of Viktor’s skating. “I think he gets better every time I see him skate. It’s not something most people can do – evolve with every performance,” he said.

“No, certainly not,” Christophe hummed, “He’s always been like that. Always pushes himself harder than he could never need to.”

“You’ve known him for a long time,” Yuuri commented thoughtfully, not tearing his gaze off of Viktor who skated on, only in the beginning half of his performance.

“Of course. Since my senior debut. He was my idol, and now he’s my best friend,” Christophe said with a little laugh, resting his hand on his hips, “He’s been through a lot – as to be expected with a career as long as his. As big,” he continued on.

“His injury,” Yuuri said, sure that must be what Christophe was referencing in terms of what he had been through. Yuuri still didn’t know much about it – Viktor often preferred not to speak about it much and, out of empathy, Yuuri had ignored the temptation to read the many articles available online about it. He would let Viktor tell him about it, the ins and outs of it as only Viktor knew them, when he was ready.

“It totally shattered his confidence. I don’t blame him – you’re on top of the sport for five years, then push yourself too far, have to sit out the entirety of the following year - people using it as their chance to edge you out? I could never imagine.”

“It’d be awful,” Yuuri agreed. He had never had a major injury in dance, either. Never had that sort of weight on his shoulders.

“I think that’s why he changes so drastically each season now. It’s easier to surprise people when you’re a new version of yourself each time. Reinvention instead of cramming in as much tech as he can,” Christophe’s point rambled off thoughtfully. “I can only wonder what he’ll do next season. To top this season.”

“Yeah,” Yuuri said softly. There it was again – a reminder. Christophe had no ill intent and it was clear in how he spoke that he might not even realize the firestorm he had just sent burning in Yuuri. The reminder that, when this season was over, Viktor wouldn’t need him anymore. Yuuri wouldn’t be useful to him when these programs were retired and the sparkle of romance dulled in comparison to the promise of bigger and better things with the next season.

This had been eating Yuuri alive since Skate America when Yuri had first thrust the prospect into his mind. It didn’t seem so much an abstract idea anymore as a tangible, real future. Viktor would need something different, someone new. Yuuri couldn’t always be what the skater needed, as much as it hurt him to rationalize that thought. He wanted to be what Viktor needed. But, what if this had been the reason Viktor wanted to keep their relationship entirely private? Because he also knew that it was going to be short-lived, and fizzle out when he needed a fresh start for another season? Less mess from the press that way.

Yuuri felt like he was desperately trying to hold onto Viktor before the fight had even technically begun. Yuuri didn’t _believe_ Viktor was that sort of man; hoped desperately he was right in believing that Viktor would never play with someone’s emotions in that way. Yuuri wished his mind would simply let him relax rather than get caught up in the uncertainty of his future…

But it was wishing too much. He knew that. Yuuri had known that for a long time. Far before Viktor had come crashing into his life and lighting up hope in areas Yuuri had once pushed away and shrouded from reality, out of self-preservation more than anything.

They continued to watch Viktor’s skate in silence then, Christophe absorbed in the artistry and Yuuri thrust into a quiet panic he needed to claw his way out of - fast. Viktor’s program was finished and a flurry of applause, screams, and congratulations. Viktor skated toward the exit, scooping up a bouquet on his way and passed it to Yakov as he put on his blade guards. He turned to wave again to the stadium, and Yuuri was positive he heard marriage proposals of all things among the fan’s reaction.

Viktor didn’t seem to dwell on that, expression pleasantly neutral as he and Yakov settled into the Kiss and Cry. When his scores were presented, his FS was sitting just slightly below where it had been in Skate America. There was a slight pinch to Viktor’s brows before his expression levelled out again, and he nodded. His combined score was on par with America, slightly below, but kept him easily in the lead ahead of Christophe and… well, he couldn’t recall who he had pushed into second place.

He managed to catch Yuuri’s eye from the Kiss and Cry, flashing him a smile before getting to his feet. Once again Viktor waved, calling out thank-yous to the enthusiastic crowd (it was always this intense at Rostelecom, and he thrived on it).  After a fast interview, once again dodging the questions of possible retirement, Viktor went through the motions of the medal ceremony with a warmth in his chest and a smile on his face. It seemed to drag on this time, however, only craving for it to be finished and done so he could be out of his costume and out of the public eye for a little – as difficult a task as that could be in his home country.

The hotel was busy, fans outside when he returned. Viktor was relieved to be ushered through by security. After a long day and a less than phenomenal free program, he wasn’t in the energetic mood necessary to entertain fans. He smiled and waved, but didn’t stop for photos like some may have liked. He was quiet on the ride up in the elevator and he was thankful Yakov had the good sense not to lecture him today. It would go in one ear and out the other.

His free skate, while having been the best of the day, had not been up to Viktor’s standards. He had been intent to set a season’s best for the program today and had failed to do such. It left him in a bit of a sour mood, as foolish as he knew it was. Gold medal tucked into his bag, Viktor knew he should be happy. He shuffled into his hotel room and tossed his belongings onto the bed.

> **9:54 PM [Yuuuuuri <3]:** I’m running a little behind but I’ll be there around 11? Is that still okay?
> 
> **9:55 PM [Viktor]:** Of course ((
> 
> **9:55 PM [Viktor]:** That’s probably for the best. The outside of the hotel is a mess right now. I wouldn’t try coming until they’ve cleared out anyway. I’ll stay up.
> 
> **9:58 PM [Yuuuuuri <3]:** Okay, yikes haha
> 
> **9:59 PM [Yuuuuuri <3]:** Are you okay, though?
> 
> **10:12 PM [Viktor]:** There’s security, I’m fine.
> 
> **10:12 PM [Yuuuuuri <3]:** Not what I meant. You were upset earlier. I can get there sooner if you need me?
> 
> **10:24 PM [Viktor]:** No, wait until it’s less busy here. 11 is good. I’ll see you then

Viktor put his phone on silent then. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to talk to Yuuri – no, there was no one that he would rather see right now. But he didn’t have the energy to keep texting about things right now. Instead, he tried to make the hotel room a little more comfortable. It had been easier to come back here instead of Yuuri’s apartment. They had been spending time at the apartment throughout the time he had in Moscow for Rostelecom, but Viktor’s car was leaving from the hotel tomorrow.

He killed time until Yuuri arrived by packing up. It was less of a job than it had been in America, fewer bags necessary and less attention to what was put where. The short flight back tomorrow morning was certainly going to be less stressful than international travel always was. When his few bags were packed, everything safely stored, he took a shower and scrubbed off the day of competition. That at least would help to leave it behind.

Eleven rolled around and, without any sign of Yuuri yet, Viktor resigned himself to watching what recordings he could of the free program today. Maybe it wasn’t necessarily helpful, but he was going to analyze the mistakes in it at some time or other. There was no better time to do it than right now, when it was still fresh in his mind. His jumps had been good, spins clean. His step sequence maybe – It had always been a little lacklustre in his opinion…

Knocking on the door pulled him out of his focus on the small screen in front of him. Viktor left his phone on the bed and checked the peephole of the door before opening it up with a tired smile. “Hey. Has it cleared up down there?”

“Yeah, definitely. Not a soul hanging around,” Yuuri said with a smile as he stepped into the hotel room. Once the door had been closed and his shoes were removed, he sought out Viktor and pulled the taller man into an embrace. Viktor let himself melt into it, having not really realized exactly how much he needed it. Yuuri let out a little sigh, tilting his head up. “You don’t need to beat yourself up over today you know. Or rewatch it so soon.”

Ah, Viktor hadn’t realized that you could still hear the video playing from where his phone sat unattended. The music still floated across the hotel room, announcers speaking over it in Russian.

Viktor rubbed the back of his neck as he pulled back from Yuuri just slightly. “It’s hard not to,” he admitted, hand staying on Yuuri’s side. “I was hoping to pass Skate America.”

“Not every performance can be ground shattering, Vitya,” reprimanded Yuuri, though his voice was undeniably soft, understanding. “You still did absolutely phenomenal today, there are no doubts about that. Your off day is still near a world record.”

“Everyone is anticipating a new one though,” Viktor reasoned, rolling his shoulders as he took Yuuri’s hand and tugged him further into the hotel room, away from the door and to the roomy bed. Viktor was used to the pressure, having been dealing with it (to varying degrees) since he was sixteen and considered the future of figure skating by many. There were plenty of resources Viktor had to deal with that pressure too – he didn’t have a sports psychologist on staff for nothing.

But it didn’t stop the days where it all got a little too much. From being too heavy on the mind after a lacklustre performance. Viktor was aware he held himself to inconceivable standards but living legends, such as he was considered, weren’t born otherwise. Now that he had reached such a status, he couldn’t exactly just start slacking. And he didn’t want to – Viktor wanted to keep being the best. But days like today weren’t going to work towards that. He felt he needed to keep surpassing what he had done to get where he was going.

“Okay well, for starters,” Yuuri paused at the side of the bed and snatched up Viktor’s phone. “I watched over five hours of figure skating in real life in the last few days, so as beautiful a skater as you _are_ ,” Yuuri stopped here to kiss Viktor on the cheek and then close out the application Viktor had been watching the video on, “We’re not going to watch this.”

“Bossy,” Viktor whined, sitting on the edge of the mattress, toward the obnoxiously large pillows. He reached out and grasped at Yuuri’s sides, tugging him closer until he managed to steer the danseur between his knees. “But okay. What _are_ we going to do then?”

“Whatever you want to do,” Yuuri replied, tossing Viktor’s phone aside on the bed carefully before his hands came to rest on Viktor’s shoulders. “Within reason. I have rehearsals at eight tomorrow.”

“That’s plenty of time,” Viktor laughed, leaning up from where he sat to kiss the curve of Yuuri’s neck and shoulder. “You still haven’t told me what you want to do for your birthday, by the way,” he commented, absently rubbing slow circles into Yuuri’s sides with his thumbs.

“I haven’t thought much about it,” Yuuri replied, fingers pushing through Viktor’s hair slowly. “I will, and I’ll let you know.” With that, he tilted Viktor’s head up for a proper kiss, easy and slow. Everything about it felt perfect, comforting in a way Viktor hadn’t known he needed. The slide of Yuuri’s lips against his own would always make the top of his head feel light, he was sure of that.

“I don’t deserve you,” Viktor commented absently, a laugh puffing out into the kiss.

“I was thinking the same – except, me-you,” Yuuri said with a smile, honesty in his tone as he pulled back. His eyes were so earnest and warm as they ran across Viktor’s face. He found that he didn’t mind feeling so vulnerable, stripped bare, in front of Yuuri. There was something nice about it, having someone to be this open with.

It was there again, the pleasant nagging in his stomach and chest that he should just _say it_ , like he had wanted to the night before Yuuri had left for Moscow. He was nervous to do it. Viktor had never told anyone that before - had never needed to. Without any knowledge to back it up, he was uncertain if it was too forward or too soon. The last thing Viktor wanted was to come on too strong and cause Yuuri to retreat on him. So he bit his tongue and kissed Yuuri once more instead.

It wasn’t long after Viktor was tugging Yuuri forward again, and the danseur paused their kiss only for the moment necessary to straddle Viktor’s hips with a little, breathy laugh.

“Not worn out yet?” Yuuri asked, fingers trailing along the line of Viktor’s jaw as the Russian’s hands came to rest on Yuuri’s thighs.

“Not in the least.”

Yuuri grinned, the expression soft, though undeniably flirty. “We can fix that.”

\--

 **{community/forums/figure skating} Current Season > ** **_Viktor Nikiforov_ **

**< quadflutz>** I think the FS performance in Skate America was one of the best we’ve ever seen from Viktor (obviously besides the last Olympics, but that was a whole new level lol). Technically he’s always going to be the powerhouse of the figure skating world but? His CPS was so good this time too. His dancing has really evolved. A little shaky in Moscow but still beautiful there as well! I can’t wait to see the Final.

> <view 32 replies>

**< clairles>** he’s definitely going to set new world records by the time the grand prix is over, probably just to break them again in Europeans and worlds!!

> **< otabeksaltins>** lol, don’t be surprised if it’s someone else breaking records though.
> 
> <view 21 more replies>

**< niktorvikiforov>** Okay but has anyone else noticed that new guy? I haven’t seen many mentions of him anywhere on this thread but he’s a hot topic on twitter. I guess he’s the choreographer for Plisetsky’s free but he showed up in Moscow too even though Yuri wasn’t there. Does anyone know who he is? {attch: img_11094}

> **< quadflutz>** The choreographer for Yuri’s FS is listed Lilia Baranovskaya, not this guy
> 
> **< clairles>** yes!!! i’m glad that someone else noticed him too, i thought i was going crazy but he was with viktor and yakov almost the entire time! does anyone have any idea who he is??? what a mystery man, he isn’t any skater i recognize! i thought maybe an ice dancer???
> 
> **< thegreyladies>** Hot damn, if I were Viktor I’d bring him along too
> 
> **< v-k-niliforv>** I was staying in the same hotel as the skaters during Rostelecom (by chance, not because I planned it) and I ran into him in the lobby the day after the free program? I think?
> 
> **< clairles>** _@v-k-niliforv_ omg what?! tell!
> 
> **< v-k-niliforv>** Ha ha, I can’t say for sure that it was definitely him, but it’d be a big coincidence for it to not be. I was checking out (around 7 or so?) and he was leaving. No bags or anything, just heading out the main entry.
> 
> **< thegreyladies>** Viktor’s booty call? d:
> 
> <view 86 more replies>

**< miraculous-katsukii>** Okay since the other thread got super cluttered I’m just going to put this here but! I found mystery man haha. He’s Katsuki Yuuri (I can’t believe my username actually has meaning in figure skating forums now!) He’s a premier danseur from the Bolshoi ballet and the winner of a ton of international ballet competitions (we’re talking A LOT of competitions (he’s kind of the Viktor Nikiforov of ballet at this point but less superstar and pretty private!!) He’s 23 (almost 24, happy birthday Yuuri!) and living in Moscow to work with the Bolshoi. He’s been working as Lilia’s assistant in choreographing for Yuri I guess!

So, I’m not sure why he was in Moscow with Viktor, without Yuri, but now you know who he is at least to give due credit! He’s really a remarkable dancer.

> **< clairles>** oh mY GOD THANK YOU!! HE’S SO PRETTY?
> 
> **< codeaxel>** He’s probably working with Viktor too since Yuri and Viktor are rink mates. It wouldn’t be a stretch for Yuuri to be giving input on Viktor’s programs. That would make sense of why suddenly Viktor’s dancing is at new levels.
> 
> **< niktorvikiforov>** (or they’re boyfriends)
> 
> **< codeaxel>** Or they’re just two professionals but, whatever lol.
> 
> <view 243 more replies>

**< admin_GoldenSkates>** Hey Guys! We really love your enthusiasm but please remember that this forum is about Viktor and his skating this season! We don’t want to stop you from discussing this but there are other more appropriate channels to share your theories on Katsuki Yuuri. **< miraculous-katsukii>** has created a new channel for you guys to talk about this stuff, thanks!

_{go to: { figure skating> Current Season > Viktor Nikiforov > Viktor’s Mystery Man/Speculations}_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think there will be a few of these forum type posts that pop up - if you have a username you'd like to volunteer (for a in-fic cameo, ooo) let me know! ♡♡
> 
> next chapter we go (back?) to mosow, and start moving towards a conversation yuuri definitely needs to have. 
> 
> until next week, you can connect with me on [my tumblr](http://aphhun.tumblr.com/) where i sometimes write drabbles, or my [my twitter where i profess my love for things w/o context!](http://twitter.com/aphhun)


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which it all becomes too much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter contains notes of a panic attack. though it isn't severe (it's really quite mild) and it's viewed from an outside perspective, please use your best discretion in reading.
> 
> beta'd by the wonderful snow_falls

**{community/forums/figure skating} Current Season > Viktor Nikiforov > Viktor’s Mystery Man/Speculation**

**< lesbianicedanceparty>** since this is a thing i guess these photos are relevant but these were taken during rostelecom and skate america. can we talk about how happy viktor looks? he usually doesn’t watch many of the other skaters (you elusive man) but at both of the qualifiers he kept coming out from the backstage to watch people with mystery man

> **< clairles>** Ahh, so cute!
> 
> <view 43 more replies>

**< katzuyas>** no one??? Has shared this yet??? I can’t believe people forgot about this but there are pictures of these two hanging out together all over St Petersburg earlier this year!!! And a photo of Yuuri walking Makkachin come on guys get with it. they’re totally dating

> **< admin_miraculous-katsukii>** Yuuri also has a poodle, that’s him and Vicchan! You can see it on his Instagram
> 
> <view 22 more replies>

< **SkateDaddy** > Okay as much as I love the idea of Viktor (finally?) dating someone, it’s obvious that even if they are (which… I don’t know. Decide for yourself but it seems likely to me) they don’t want to be public about it.

Viktor is a world class, famous athlete and Yuuri is one of the best ballet dancers alive right now. Could we maybe stop reducing them to arguments over whether they’re dating or just professional friends? They can be both, but more importantly, they’re people!

I doubt they like very much that people are digging into their personal lives like this. Have some respect.

> **< bushingvitya>** ??? it’s not digging into their personal life we’re literally sharing screenshots from the official competitions they show up at
> 
> **< glissendo>** I sort of agree, but I also get people’s interest! Viktor is so private about his personal life, we can’t help but wonder what he gets up to ((
> 
> **< blushingvitya>** idk like maybe if you don’t like people talking about this?? You could go back to the viktor-only threads. this IS for speculation.
> 
> **< thegreyladies>** Anyway Katsuki Yuuri could step on me
> 
> **< clairles>** same same same
> 
> <view 63 more replies>

**< vityasgoldenblades>** Not to start anything that I can’t back up (because I can’t) but um, Viktor was just spotted getting off the train in Moscow (even though he should be in SP getting ready for the final). Yuuri’s debut with the Bolshoi is soon (Nov 22nd). Coincidence????

> **< niktorvikiforov>** my ship is fucking sailing

\--

“You do know that this is irresponsible, yes?”

“Of course,” Viktor said with a huff, shifting in the passenger side’s seat of the car. Yakov’s car was nice – modern, well maintained. It had always been as such, but had certainly improved in the meticulous care after the divorce. Viktor remembered how Yakov had poured himself into the vehicle to fill the void.

“I can’t believe that I’m letting you do this,” Yakov grumbled, his grip on the steering wheel tightening fractionally.

“Well it’s not so much that you’re letting me,” Viktor said, looking over at Yakov with an easy smile, “It’s that you’re being nice and driving me to the train station instead of making me take a cab. I would be going, no matter what, Yasha.” Yakov just grunted at that, and Viktor shrugged before looking out the window at the passing landscape.

“You should have just flown into Moscow the day of the performance, and then again for his birthday if you must _,_ rather than staying through. It isn’t a long flight.”

“Yuuri is really busy right now. I didn’t want him to have to think about that, and so much commuting. It might stress him out-”

“His _shadow_ stresses him out, boy,” Yakov retorted, to which Viktor shot him a protective look. Yakov continued, “You better be practicing while you’re there. I’m not giving you a week off. I’m reassigning you for a week.” Viktor had heard this before – many times. Yakov had an acquaintance in Moscow, an associate coach, who would be overseeing Viktor’s practices for the next few days while he stayed in Moscow with Yuuri. "I'll be checking in to make sure you're making your practice times."

“You have so little faith in me," Viktor wailed, melodrama filling his tone, "I’m just going there to support Yuuri. Taking the train is easier because I can just get a car to his apartment instead of him having to come and pick me up at the airport. Besides, it’s only four hours. If something goes disastrously wrong-“

“Which it _won’t_ -“

“-which it won’t,” Viktor echoed calmly, before continuing, “If something happens I’ll be back just like that and we can fix whatever it is. Besides, remember when you said just to take things easy? To warm up?”

“That was during the first competition of the season,” Yakov snorted, “You’re going to the finals now. You might have done well in your qualifiers but you’re still competing. Don’t get cocky.”

Viktor let out a sigh of relief when they parked outside of the train station, scrambling to get out while Yakov droned on with his lectures. It was nothing that Viktor hadn’t heard before, and to be frank? His attention was already four hours away in Moscow.

“See you soon, Yasha! Don’t forget to come and pick me up on the 30th, please!”

Yakov sighed and shifted in the driver’s seat. Then as an afterthought turned to look back to where Viktor was retrieving his bags from the back seat. “Tell that-… Tell Yuuri happy birthday, from me.”

Viktor beamed, smiling. “Absolutely.”

\--

The amount of pressure that Yuuri was under felt like it was reaching a breaking point. With his debut only three days away, Yuuri understood that there was absolutely no time for things to be going wrong. In reality, not a lot _was_ going wrong. The production itself was moving quite smoothly.

But Yuuri knew he should be performing better.

Lilia knew it too, and she was being positively relentless. He didn’t expect her to be any other way, but-

“Katsuki! Your form is horrible, again,” she called out loudly. Yuuri wanted the floor to swallow him whole, more than anything else, under her harsh critique. “From the top once more, no music. Focus. This isn’t the time to get dazed.”

“Yes, Ms,” Yuuri replied quickly and bowed in her direction before going back to his starting mark. He didn’t like to run things without music this close. It felt like they were tempting fate and he knew that _he_ was absolutely at fault for how things had been going at practice today.

When Viktor had left back for St Petersburg, Yuuri had the foresight to predict it was going to be disastrous to just be left to his own thoughts and devices. He had ways to occupy himself, of course – Yuuri was a grown man with a job, responsibilities, and better things to do than sitting around and worrying about his relationship all day. But his anxiety certainly did a good job of appearing at random intervals, spiking at seemingly its own will throughout the weeks between Viktor’s departure to St Petersburg and his return at the end of the month.

So Yuuri was a little strung out. The weight of the debut, knowing that he needed to do well to prove himself and his worthiness of this position in the Bolshoi sat heavily on his shoulders. There were plenty of people who had been involved with the Bolshoi for years before him that were upset he had come into the position of premier danseur without working through the ranks from the bottom first. 

The rational part of Yuuri’s mind knew that such had happened because he deserved the position he had. The anxious part reminded him that if he couldn’t get through this performance then he definitely did _not_ deserve it.

On top of that was his anxiety over what happened to his relationship with Viktor when the inspiration Viktor could draw from Yuuri ran dry. Distance made it more difficult – he felt pitifully desperate to remain relevant and interesting to Viktor, although his anxiety might actually serve him well in that respect. With being simultaneously too nervous about bombarding Viktor with a number of text messages he compulsed to send in order to stay relevant, and then actually _sending_ half of them because Yuuri felt he walked the line of being forgotten otherwise, Yuuri might have worked out a good balance. Still, it wasn’t enough to outweigh the mental warfare he was inflicting upon himself.

Still, it wasn’t enough to outweigh the mental warfare he was inflicting upon himself.

Getting wrapped up in thoughts was all too easy when Viktor wasn’t here to ground him. Yuuri hated that as much, too – that he couldn’t just calm his own nerves over this. He had become incredibly good at self-soothing over the years, due to the nature of his family and then having been so far from home at a young age. Now? It was hard to have to depend on someone. He wasn’t sure how to open up to Viktor in the ways that he needed to because he had never needed to with anyone else before. He was worried about scaring Viktor away, being too much of a chore to deal with. What good was an inspiration if it drained you instead of energized you?

“Again,” Lilia’s voice was loud and sharp, cutting through Yuuri’s thoughts. He took a few steadying breaths, sweating more so from the nerves rattling in his chest than the exertion of dancing. He nodded and shook out his limbs. Yuuri lost count of how many times they ran through the pieces after that, just trying to throw himself into the dance. It worked, for the most part. His mind slowly started to quiet although there were pangs of it in the back of his thoughts every so often. But he preserved, letting dance soothe him like it had done for so many years. The pressure was intense, growing with each day. But Yuuri tried to find comfort in the ache of his muscles and the familiar movements. There was solace in it, after many years of being accustomed to just this. He could push through at the very least until the end of today.

Then he just needed to keep doing the same, again and again. One day at a time was hard when his mind was worried for the future. But it was necessary until the debut if he was to survive.

“Better,” Lilia finally said after what could have been hours. Yuuri was tired, sweaty from working, and his feet were aching. The familiar sting was comforting in a sense. He knew he would feel the impacts of his efforts later in his muscles as well. “We’ll finish for today. Be prepared to run the pas de deux following full rehearsals tomorrow. I want to ensure that everything about it is perfect.”

“Yes, of course,” Yuuri replied, not wasting a moment. When Lilia nodded her head in dismissal, Yuuri shuffled over to his bag to inspect his phone. There were a few messages from Viktor; that he was excited, that he was at the train station, that he was _on_ the train, and that he was about an hour away – twenty-five minutes now, considering how long the message had been sitting there. He found himself smiling. Despite his worries, getting to see Viktor was never going to be a bad thing. Yuuri might be worried Viktor would lose interest in him, but for the time being? Viktor was on a train heading for Moscow  _for_ him.

It excited him as much as it made his stomach twist in nerves. He would make sure that Viktor had an incredible time while he was here. That would help, wouldn’t it? If they had an amazing week together in Moscow Viktor wouldn’t lose interest...

“Yuuri,” Lilia’s voice interrupted his thoughts again, Yuuri looked over his shoulder to where the woman stood. Her features, typically so severe and tight seemed to be almost soft. Yuuri stood up straight again and walked over to where she was at the edge of the theatre.

“Did you want me to come early tomorrow to run the solo again?” Yuuri asked as he came to a stop in front of Lilia, a few paces away from her. When she gestured him closer Yuuri was hesitant but closed the gap.

“You do worse in practice when something is on your mind, Yuuri. I’ve been working with you intensely for nearly a year now, don’t think I haven’t picked up on your habits.” Yuuri blinked at her words; he had never really expected Lilia of all people to be so forward, reading him like an open book. He supposed that through her career she must have seen many other people just like him, but… It wasn’t anticipated or her to sound so…

Concerned.

“Speak to him,” came her next words, hand poised on her hip as she studied him, “Sort out whatever it is that’s on your mind. Resolve it before the debut, and have your mind clear by the time we present. I am not worried about your capability. I’ve seen you dance these pieces flawlessly time and time over again. I’m worried about your focus. Don’t distract yourself due to something that could be resolved.”

“Yes, Lilia,” Yuuri said, bowing marginally and letting out a little sigh. “I’m sorry I’ve been distracted during rehearsals-“

“I’m not saying this as your boss,” Lilia said sternly, shaking her head. Yuuri paused, but straightened out and looked at her in curiosity. The owlish blinking he offered seemed to spur her on further. “Young relationships such as yours can be set up for failure if you don’t address issues when they arise. If something is upsetting you, don’t let it fester. And do _not_ let it get in the way of your professional career. You’re a talented dancer, Yuuri. Don’t sabotage yourself over something such as this. I’ll see you tomorrow for full rehearsals.”

Yuuri could only stand there, feeling a little stunned at the open exchange. He watched as Lilia walked away, exiting the theatre, other dancers and theatre staff milled about moving to leave for the day as well. Yuuri worried his bottom lip between his teeth as he walked back over to his bag, pulling joggers on over his tights and a hoodie over his fitted shirt. As he slung his bag over his shoulder there was a dinging from his pocket.

> **[Vitya]:** We arrived a little earlier than scheduled! Traffic wasn’t bad so I’m nearly at your apartment. Are you home?
> 
> **[Yuuri]:** No, I’m still at the theatre. Just getting ready to leave
> 
> **[Yuuri]:** Let yourself in. You still have the security code for the front door. There’s a spare key in the plant at the end of the hallway
> 
> **[Yuuri]:** By apartment 359
> 
> **[Vitya]:** Okay! I could start dinner? Or order something. I’m starving ((
> 
> **[Yuuri]:** Let’s cook. I’ll be home in 10
> 
> **[Vitya]:** <3

Yuuri let out a slow sigh and pocketed his phone again, studying the wall of the theatre for a moment before he started toward the exit as well. He had just over a week with Viktor. Three days until his debut. Three days to talk to him about this.

Three days to figure out what he needed to _do_ to talk to Viktor about this.

Yuuri stomped down the worry as he pulled his hood up to keep the rain out of his face, and started on the brief walk back to his apartment. Tonight he would let himself relax. Hopefully.

\--

Viktor had underestimated just how nice it could be to simply _be_ in Yuuri’s apartment. He had visited a few times now, of course. During Rostelecom he had been here as much as his schedule would permit (which hadn’t been enough, in Viktor's opinion). However, that was undeniably just visiting. Not that he was moving in today. But Viktor couldn’t deny the warmth in his chest when Yuuri told him to let himself inside, and that he would be _home_ in ten minutes.

Was Viktor included in that home now? He hoped so. Or at the very least, for the next week and a half, he was. Viktor had come with bags and Makkachin in tow for his visit – the two dogs were curled up together in the living room, and Viktor’s bags were in Yuuri’s bedroom, waiting to find a place to be unpacked. It was nice. This got to be his home for a while, and he got to share it with Yuuri.

Maybe he was getting sappy. And maybe he was getting ahead of himself, but Viktor couldn’t help but feel ambitious for the future. Would they get an apartment like this somewhere down the line? Or maybe somewhere more like his modern apartment in St Petersburg… And how would they decorate it? He noticed that Yuuri seemed to really like warm lights and colours, and it made everything look so cozy compared to the sleek white and blue of Viktor’s own apartment.

As he wandered through the apartment for the umpteenth time, willing Yuuri to get home faster, he decided that he would like to decorate the way Yuuri had. He wanted to string up twinkling lights like Yuuri had done in various rooms.

When he heard the front door open it was hard not to bound toward it like the dogs both did. He would play it cool, even if he didn’t want to. Viktor instead lingered in the living room for a moment, listening to the bell-like chime of Yuuri’s laugh, and the shuffling of boots and coats before getting up to his feet. Viktor could hear Yuuri cooing and chattering to the dogs in Japanese as he went toward the apartment door, a big smile in place.

“Welcome home!” Viktor said with a little laugh, awkwardly shuffling around both Vicchan and Makkachin who eagerly vied for Yuuri’s attention (Viktor ignored the pang of jealousy because – why couldn’t the dogs love him that much too?), to press a kiss to Yuuri’s head and hug him.

“Hey, you too,” Yuuri said with a little laugh as he hugged Viktor back tightly, before clearing his throat softly. “I mean, well, welcome – to Moscow, welcome,” he corrected himself, and Viktor quietly decided to ignore the correction. Welcome home on its own was good enough for him – better even. The dogs between them, however, continued to compete for attention and Viktor let out a huff as Makkachin tried and succeeded in wedging between them.

“Makkachin has been going crazy this whole time. I thought the apartment would be destroyed when we first got here, with how much snooping little Makkachin was doing!” Viktor said, taking half a step back as the larger poodle nosed at Yuuri’s hip and hands, begging for affection. “I think it was confusing that you weren’t here but the apartment smells you.”

“Ah, well I bet Vicchan was happy to see you, Makka-chan!” Yuuri cooed, down on his knees now as he lavished pets and kisses over Makkachin’s fur. Viktor smiled and rested his back against the wall near the entryway.

“It’s nice having all four of us back in one place,” Viktor commented, rolling the sleeves of his sweater. Yuuri got up to his feet a moment after and smiled almost shyly, something flickering through his gaze that Viktor couldn’t quite decipher in time before it was gone again. He reached out and tugged Yuuri closer by the waist, hand falling onto his hip. “So, dinner? You said you wanted to cook.”

“I thought it’d be nicer than just getting takeout after you were stuck on the train all day,” Yuuri said with a nod, reaching up to brush Viktor’s fringe back from his eyes. “So if you’d like to lend a hand?”

“Just let me know what you need, chef,” Viktor flashed an easy grin, dipping down to capture Yuuri’s lips in a quick kiss seeing as he hadn’t been able to help himself to one yet, with the dogs pushing in between them. Yuuri hummed as he pressed back into it, drawing it out – Viktor certainly didn’t complain.

“Okay,” Yuuri breathed out in a laugh as he finally drew away and slid his hands from Viktor’s shoulders down to grasp his hands instead. Pulling him along to the kitchen, Yuuri only let go when he needed to wash his hands and start pulling ingredients out. “Did you put your bags in my room?”

“Yes, that’s okay?” Viktor said, though he knew already that Yuuri didn’t mind.

“No sense leaving them anywhere else,” Yuuri returned with a nod, moving about the kitchen with ease. Not the same sort of elegance that he had when dancing (although there were mannerisms from dance Viktor would argue Yuuri would never be able to shake, even in the most mundane of moments) but a familiar, comfortable sense. Viktor could cook, and wasn’t bad at it either, with a few mastered dishes under his belt. But Yuuri seemed at home, relaxed, as he started the prep for their dinner.

Time passed slowly but comfortably as they cooked, Viktor helping out whenever he could, and otherwise making use of himself by occupying the dogs so Makkachin wasn’t constantly trying to get under Yuuri’s feet for attention, and Vicchan competing for the same level of focus. A majority of the cooking to be done seemed to be independent work, so Viktor didn’t mind his new role of poodle referee.

“So what do you want to do while you’re here?” Yuuri asked, leaning back against the counter as he put their food in the oven to finish. Viktor raised a brow at the question, fingers buried deep in Vicchan’s fur.

“I should be asking you that – it’s your birthday coming up.”

“At the _end_ of your stay. We still have a lot of time between now and then, and we’re not going to busy for all of it. I want you to have fun while you're here,” Yuuri said. Granted, Yuuri’s rehearsals and shows were going to take up a large chunk of the time but they were also why Viktor was here. No complaints there. He was more thinking about his own adjusted schedule for training with Yakov’s associate coach. Viktor would gladly skip out on all of those pre-arranged training sessions for the week off he thought he was going to get.

“I’ve never been to the gardens in the winter,” Viktor offered simply, deciding it easier to give an option of what they could do than continue insisting that Yuuri choose. That would get him nowhere. He knew that well enough. “And there are a few nice restaurants I’d like to try – get all dressed up and go?”

“You like fancy things,” Yuuri sighed, carding a hand through his hair, “Last year I was sitting in an apartment with questionable air conditioning eating instant noodles spruced up with whatever we had in the fridge.”

“You make it sound like I’m your sugar daddy, taking you to all these nice places instead,” Viktor teased, eyebrows waggling, and Yuuri sputtering into a round of laughter that seemed to stem from the bottom of his toes.

“Yeah,  _no_ to that. I could afford them. I just never went – Phichit and I weren’t really into that sort of thing and it never occurred to me to just go out to a nice restaurant for fun. New York is too stuffy anyway,” Yuuri rambled, giving Viktor a look. “So that’s it then? Go and see the gardens and eat good food?”

“What more could I want to do?” Viktor said, shrugging his shoulders. “I get to spend time with you – _and you_ , Vicchan,” Viktor added as the toy poodle nudged him as he had stopped scratching him for a moment. “That’s enough for me.”

Yuuri’s gaze flickered from Viktor to the clock for a moment, before a small smile crept onto his lips, warming his expression. “Okay,” he said delicately, nodding his head slowly.

Viktor couldn’t tell what was bothering Yuuri yet. He knew that it was there, in how tentative he seemed so far. The space that the danseur kept between them spoke more than expressions or words, and so Viktor let it be for now. He would wait it out for a while, to see if Yuuri would come to him. If not, some gentle prying wasn’t going to be the end of the world.

\--

“During the late winter, I hear they’re really beautiful, with ice sculptures and all. I’ve never had a chance to see them,” Viktor said as they walked through the Hermitage Gardens. Their evening prior had been quiet, eating their dinner curled up on the sofa with wine to accompany it, tired conversation exchanged. It was relaxing, although a little surreal. The longer the evening seemed to stretch on the more distant Yuuri seemed to grow. Viktor wondered if it was maybe just strange for Yuuri to have Viktor here for such a long stretch, staying in his space. Maybe he should have offered to get a hotel if Yuuri felt like Viktor was suffocating him…

He just hoped that the time throughout their days they were forced to spend apart helped. Yuuri had been off early in the morning for rehearsals and Viktor soon after for his own training. Viktor didn’t know what to make of it, but when they were together things seemed better and worse at the same time. Better because,  _well_ , they were together. But worse because Yuuri still seemed to be hung up on something Viktor couldn’t understand.

“I bet it would be nice,” Yuuri replied, hands stuffed into his pockets. “I can’t imagine though, going any later than this? It’s already getting so cold to walk around for so long. Walking through them any later in the year would be brutal.”

Viktor raised a brow. “It’s almost the end of November,” he started, “How much later in the year can you get than this?”

“You know what I mean,” Yuuri said with a dry laugh, nudging Viktor with his elbow before the space between them was put back into place. They were quiet for a moment as they walked along. “I guess winter here isn’t drastically worse than New York. It all makes me miss Hasetsu though, it was much milder there. The springs are the best, though, in my opinion.”

“We’ll have to go sometime,” Viktor offered conversationally, looking over at Yuuri before turning his gaze back to the garden. “After hearing everything you’ve said about Hasetsu I’m curious! It sounds so quaint.”

“Maybe,” Yuuri agreed, nodding his head slowly before speaking again. “I don’t know how exciting it would be. There isn’t much to do. At least, there wasn’t when I was growing up there.”

“I’d be happy to just to see your family’s onsen,” Viktor reasoned, cracking a grin, “Ever since you mentioned how nice it was I want to try it too.” Yuuri merely hummed in response to that, eyes turned forward and fixed steadily on the path before them as they walked along. Viktor relented and let them fall into silence once more. It didn’t feel uncomfortable – silence seldom did with Yuuri. He had a feeling that, despite them going out for the evening, Yuuri needed the quiet.

Viktor would oblige him for as long as he needed until he was ready to say whatever was on his mind.

\--

Day three seemed a little better. They still had a day between now and Yuuri’s debut, but it seemed each time that Yuuri returned from a rehearsal he was increasingly frustrated over the impending shows. Viktor couldn’t decide if anything he could say about it would be a comfort or a pain, and so he walked a carefully balanced line.

“Let’s go out and get a bite to eat,” Viktor said, lifting his head from where it had been resting against the arm of Yuuri’s couch. Yuuri’s rehearsals had ended at one and Viktor’s training at two – for the last hour, they had been sprawled on the couch lazily, scrolling through their phones quietly. It was relaxing, and necessary (Viktor had been ignoring too many emails since arriving in Moscow).

“I thought you wanted to go out for dinner tonight,” Yuuri said, tilting his head in Viktor’s direction. He seemed a little tired, his usual pleasant energy absent and instead he seemed just overall… Drained. Viktor wished he could fix it in an instant.

“I do. And we can,” Viktor said, sitting up properly and taking Yuuri’s hand, thumb dragging across his knuckles slowly. “But it’s still early and we weren’t going to go out until later on, right? So let’s go grab coffee and sandwiches or something.”

“There’s a café not too far from here,” Yuuri offered, setting his phone aside. He seemed to lighten a little. “It’d be nice to get out of the apartment too.”

“Great!” Viktor said, getting to his feet and tugging Yuuri along too. “I’m just going to go change, then we’ll go?” Yuuri nodded and pressed a kiss to Viktor’s cheek, though it still felt more tentative than they had come to be in the months prior. Viktor smiled all the same, as any affection from Yuuri was welcomed affection, and squeezed Yuuri’s hand before departing to the bedroom.

He made fast work of changing out of his clothes - loungewear selected after showering earlier. They set out on the short walk to the café Yuuri knew. The streets were definitely busier today, crowds of students milling about after class and people between meetings. Viktor kept Yuuri close while they walked, itching to take his hand but refraining as they went down the street. He doubted that there was much press around – that wasn’t really of great concern. But between that vague reminder in the back of his mind too, and Yuuri’s more distant state…

It seemed better to hold back for a moment.

Idle chatter was passed between them until they arrived, ordering their food and settling into a cozy booth toward the back of the café. It was warm inside, a refuge from the damp cold that clung to the air outside. With their food and drinks, they fell into idle conversation. Viktor didn’t bring up Yuuri’s rehearsals because he had had a suspicion that it wasn’t a welcome topic while Yuuri was still stressed about it.

Instead, he led the conversation in another direction, he talked about Christophe and what he had heard from his friend in the few weeks it had been, as well as bits and pieces about Barcelona. Viktor had been to the city once before but had been too young to fully appreciate it, and so he hoped to see more of the iconic sights this time. Vaguely there were offhanded mentions of the places Viktor wanted to go back to as well, fond memories he would like to share with Yuuri, who had opened up increasingly as they ate and chattered.

It was nice until Viktor heard the quiet shutter of a camera.

At first, he hadn’t thought anything of it, thinking that there must be teenagers in the café taking photos of their food or their friends. That wasn’t unreasonable, and it wasn’t as though Viktor was unused being photographed just going about his day-to-day. But then the reminder it was peak season came flooding in, and his gaze shifted away from Yuuri-

“Vitya?” Viktor let go of Yuuri’s hand that he had picked up in the retelling of a story of a visit to Barcelona with his parents. Viktor didn’t respond, jaw shifting back and forth in a little annoyance. He didn’t mind dealing with the press. He was good at it - charming, a presence that sold copies and made the masses swoon. But that was when he was generally anticipating them. He hadn’t told anyone that he was coming to Moscow because he hadn't wanted to press about it. And he certainly hadn’t anticipated that a quiet café like this would be subject to any sort of reporter crawling around. It was an easy conclusion that they must have spotted Viktor and Yuuri on the street at some point and followed them.

It made Viktor’s stomach twist. This was the sort of thing he had wanted to keep Yuuri from. Viktor could deal with press reporters who were interested in his work. They were generally fairly respectful. But he wasn’t _just_ a figure skater – that came with the territory of being the top male figure skater in the world, and the face of so many different companies and brands. Viktor was a celebrity. A public figure and people wanted to know more about him. His private life. Increasingly, about Yuuri. He had seen the forums, forwarded to him by Yuri Plisetsky (who opted to spend his time combing through online forums whereas Viktor tried to ignore them). The idea that he had resulted in press crawling around the area Yuuri lived in just to trail them for photos made his annoyance spike.

“ _Vitya_ ,” Yuuri said, leaning across the table and speaking more forcefully now. The danseur reached out and took Viktor’s hand, and it was enough to pull Viktor’s attention back to the here and now, the café where their privacy was being invaded.

“We should go,” Viktor murmured quietly, looking at their hands for a moment before he withdrew from Yuuri’s touch to stand and put his coat on.

“Right now?” Yuuri asked, still oblivious to the shutter clicks.

“Yes,” Viktor said, winding his scarf around his neck and buttoning his coat. “There’s a reporter taking pictures of us right now and I would rather not encourage it by letting him,” he said quietly, voice teetering on formal as he waited beside the table, pulling his gloves on. Yuuri took to his feet rather quickly when Viktor spoke, seeing the reason in it at the very least. He paused as he pulled on his jacket, looking around the café and able to pick out who it was. They weren’t really interested in being discrete now, it seemed.

“Sports?” Yuuri asked skeptically, looking at Viktor warily.

“Gossip,” Viktor corrected, waiting until Yuuri had his scarf on at least before he pressed his hand into the man’s lower back and started steering him out of the café as murmurs of _‘so that is actually him, huh?’_ started. Viktor was at least relieved to get out before anything had really started. He didn’t say anything for a while, opting for silence until they were halfway back to Yuuri’s apartment.

“Sorry to cut lunch short,” Viktor said, voice still a little more awkward than he would like it to be. “I just… It’s annoying,” he said, “I don’t want there to be a ton of photos of us circulating. People are already starting to question things after Rostelecom,” he rambled, gaze turned ahead.

Yuuri snagged his bottom lip between his teeth and nodded. “Yeah,” he said after a moment, “I understand.” Yuuri did, to an extent. He knew that Viktor didn’t want their relationship public. This just didn’t help the havoc his anxiety had been having on him the entire time Viktor had been with him in Moscow so far – the worry that Viktor was going to lose interest, that he was going to leave, and their separation would be fast and impartial. Being steered out of a café at the first possibility of photos of them being circulated drove home his worry.

Viktor didn’t want to address any of the rumours that circulated about their relationship, and Yuuri had decided that it wasn’t _his_ place to make any calls there. Yuuri lived his life in comfortable privacy because, frankly, people didn’t know who he was. He may have won many international competitions and worked with prestigious ballet companies but that was only relevant to the people who liked ballet. He wasn’t a celebrity. He didn’t have to deal with being hounded by the press for both his work and his life. Viktor did, though, and so Yuuri thought it was fair that Viktor got to decide what was publicized and what was not.

But he couldn’t deny that it stung just a little, being hidden away. Part of Yuuri wanted the world to know that they were together and _he_ was the man on the receiving end of Viktor’s affections – even if not forever, for now. The larger part of him knew that was selfish, and so he let Viktor lead him along back towards the apartment without complaint. Yuuri was fairly private anyway. He doubted he would _like_ being plastered across magazines and gossip columns despite the possessive feeling it might fulfill regarding Viktor.

Being publicly acknowledged as Viktor’s boyfriend would undoubtedly make him feel more secure in their status than he felt now, being tucked away like a secret.

Only when they were inside the apartment did Viktor seem to relax, taking off his outerwear and hanging it neatly on the hooks by the door. “I have to make a call,” Viktor said, leaning down to kiss Yuuri’s temple as he fished his phone out from his pocket, disappearing down the hallway. Yuuri heard the click of the bathroom door and he let out a sigh, shoulders slumping as he too took off his jacket and scarf, leaving them at the door.

He shuffled his feet as he made his way into the living room, pausing to say hello to Makkachin and Vicchan before resuming his prior station on the couch. There were a few hours until they had been planning to go to dinner, which seemed welcome now that their late lunch had been interrupted and brought to a halt. Yuuri looked through his phone blindly, scrolling without any real interest before gritting his teeth and opening his messages.

> **[Yuuri]:** hey, are you around?

The reply came much faster than he had been anticipating, that was for certain.

> **[Mari]:** Yes
> 
> **[Mari]:** What’s wrong?
> 
> **[Yuuri]:** nothing’s wrong
> 
> **[Mari]:** You never start a conversation like that if nothing is wrong
> 
> **[Mari]:** So just tell me what’s wrong
> 
> **[Mari]:** You forget how well I know you, you aren’t mysterious even after all these years Yuuri.

He couldn’t help but smile at that, rubbing at his face for a moment before he started.

> **[Yuuri]:** it’s just this thing with viktor
> 
> **[Mari]:** Do I need to kill him or
> 
> **[Yuuri]:** no no no its honestly stupid mari
> 
> **[Mari]:** Okay. Continue.
> 
> **[Yuuri]:** it’s just…. i know i’m probably just overing thinking things but i’m worried he’s going to break up with me
> 
> **[Yuuri]:** ugh that makes me sound like im like fifteen
> 
> **[Mari]:** Yup. Keep going kiddo.
> 
> **[Yuuri]** : i don’t know. just between what people have told me about him and how he acts sometimes i can’t help but get worried sometimes? he doesn’t want to be public about us to like, anyone that doesn’t HAVE to know
> 
> **[Yuuri]:** and i definitely get that and appreciate it sometimes since i'm busy too but we were just out to eat and there was some reporter taking pictures and viktor? just completely flipped a switch and left right away
> 
> **[Mari]:** Do you blame him though? You don’t like having your picture taken anyway
> 
> **[Mari]:**  But I know what you mean. You’re worried he’s embarrassed to be dating you or that he wants it to be easier for his ‘image’ when you break up
> 
> **[Yuuri]:** i mean
> 
> **[Mari]:** Yes
> 
> **[Mari]:** So here’s what you have to do
> 
> **[Yuuri]:** ugh i know what you’re going to say
> 
> **[Mari]:**  You’re going to have to talk to him
> 
> **[Yuuri]:** there it is
> 
> **[Mari]:** It’s the truth though. If you don’t talk to him about it you’re just going to keep worrying yourself about it. So stop putting it off, ask him if he really wants to be with you and see where he is on it. If he wants to be with you he’s going to make it obvious, Yuuri. Besides, he’s lucky to have you at all given how much of your time you’ve spent on him. See where he is with it all. If he doesn’t want the press to know about you because he’s embarrassed or planning on dumping you, send his ass out onto the curb and say goodbye. If that isn’t it at all, you’ve just been worrying yourself all along like you know you are, except now you have confirmation from Viktor
> 
> **[Mari]:** Talk. To. Him.
> 
> **[Yuuri]:** okay
> 
> **[Mari]:** Like today. Don’t put it off. Do it before your debut and stop psyching yourself out. Every other time you’ve talked to me about this guy you’ve been totally infatuated. You’re just getting in your head, I guarantee.
> 
> **[Mari]:** Let me know how things go. I have some friends in Moscow if you need him to be taken care of
> 
> **[Yuuri]:** who could you possibly know in moscow????

Mari just sent him back the kissy face emoji, and Yuuri scoffed tiredly.

> **[Mari]:** Also mom expects you to call her on your birthday. She figured out Skype and wants to try it. Do what you will with that information.
> 
> **[Yuuri]:** thanks mari. i’ll let you know. miss you
> 
> **[Mari]:** We miss you too. Hug Vicchan for us all.
> 
> **[Yuuri]:** of course. see you

She didn’t text back after that, leaving the message on _'Read',_  so Yuuri locked his phone and pressed it against his chest with a little sigh. He knew that she was right – about having to talk to him today. Viktor had been in Moscow for three days and all Yuuri had done was be awkward, skirt around what was actually bothering him, and probably make an absolutely horrible host for his boyfriend. Yuuri understood that he needed to be frank with Viktor and express what was bothering him – now having been prompted by Mari _and_ Lilia.

It seemed pretty unavoidable, at this rate.

He heard Viktor talking into his phone in Russian – too fast for Yuuri to catch and be able to translate any of it reliably, so he tried to tune it out and instead closed his eyes.

Maybe after their dinner tonight. Viktor had been excited about dinner. Yuuri didn’t want to ruin that, but he knew that afterwards might ruin their evening too…

He would talk to him soon.

\--

Any opening up Yuuri had done during their outing today had snapped back like an elastic band by the time they returned to the apartment. Viktor wasn’t certain exactly what had caused it – if Yuuri too was bothered about having been photographed, or if he was annoyed that Viktor had cut their lunch short so abruptly. Yuuri was hard to read sometimes, or maybe Viktor was just clueless. Viktor knew that Yuuri was upset, but couldn’t figure out why, and therefore couldn’t discern how to fix it.

And god, he wanted nothing more than to be able to fix it.

That was the frustrating part. Because he wanted to set Yuuri at ease again. Viktor understood that it probably wasn’t anything he had done directly that was the sole cause – at least, he hoped. It seemed unlikely that with one of the biggest performances of Yuuri’s career on the horizon that Viktor was the only thing contributing to Yuuri’s poor mood, and evident spiral into anxiety. It had to be an amalgamation of things that had brought Yuuri to this point of nerves and odd behaviour. The stress of the debut, a few mistakes throughout his previous rehearsals that had him on edge, surely having Viktor crowding into his private space, as well as the invasive press…

Viktor felt fairly helpless as Yuuri shuffled around the apartment, practically dragging his feet as they started to get ready for dinner. Viktor had made reservations for them at a nice restaurant, and as decided the night he had arrived they were going to dress up and have a nice dinner out. Yuuri didn’t seem enthused about the idea anymore though, like he had been before when they had thumbed through Yuuri's closet to decide on his suit.

Viktor fidgeted with his suit jacket, adjusting how it sat on his shoulders as he watched Yuuri from across the room. The man had tied and retied his tie three times now.

“Let me,” Viktor insisted, crossing the room and coming to a stop at Yuuri’s side.

“You don’t have to,” Yuuri assured him, offering a polite, tight smile. It wasn’t the sort of expression Viktor was used to being on the receiving end from Yuuri. It wasn’t warm and natural like he had become so accustomed to. “I’ve got it,” Yuuri said, turning back to the mirror to fix the knot. It did look better this time, sitting properly. Yuuri looked great in his suit, obviously – it was certainly tailored for formal dinners and banquets with sponsors and patrons of the ballet. But he didn’t seem as confident as the man in a suit like that should. He was still timid. Withdrawn.

“I have to go, ah, get my shoes from the other room. But then I guess we should go, so we don't miss our table?” Yuuri said, snapping Viktor’s focus back to the present.

“Of course,” Viktor said, swallowing quietly and running his fingertips down the sleeve of Yuuri’s jacket. He felt so far away.

The danseur offered the same polite smile before leaving the bedroom, sock feet padding sluggishly against the floors, absent of their usual grace and weightless tread. Viktor studied himself in the mirror for a moment, fixing his collar. He wasted away a few moments, wanting to give Yuuri time to breathe, before he followed Yuuri out towards the main room of the apartment. Yuuri was in the living room rather at than the coat closet near the door, like Viktor had anticipated. The window cracked open, cold night air coming in through the screen. It wasn’t hot enough in here to warrant the need for extra airflow, but Yuuri seemed flushed. Out of breath. Strained.

Immediately, Viktor dropped his resolve of not pressing the matter until Yuuri opened up to him. It wasn't going to happen - that much was obscenely obvious as he studied Yuuri's rigid posture. Perhaps Viktor should have anticipated this. Yuuri would work himself into a full out panic attack before he took it upon himself to bring up something that was upsetting him - something he obviously wasn't _comfortable_ with. In that moment Viktor resisted the urge to curse himself, seeing in retrospect all of the moments he should have stopped fluffing the situation and just  _said something._

“You need to talk to me, Yuuri,” Viktor insisted with a faint frown, hovering near the edge of the living room with an expression he hoped could look reassuring to his boyfriend who, undoubtedly, was panicking now. Viktor spoke again, clear and deliberate in his words, “Something is bothering you more than your rehearsals not going well – you’ve been distant since we left the restaurant earlier. What’s going on?”

Yuuri didn’t reply, swallowing hard and pressing his hands against the windowsill before he straightened. He wrung his hands, eyes fixed on the floor of the living room between them but unseeing. Viktor recognized the posture, though he wasn’t sure he had ever seen Yuuri’s nerves presented this obviously. Something was very wrong.

“Yuuri?” Viktor tried again, voice a little hesitant as he moved to close the space between them in the living room. Yuuri took half a step back to near press himself against the windowsill when Viktor got about halfway. Viktor tried not to let it hurt as much it did, focusing instead at putting Yuuri at ease in any way that he could. 

He stopped, hands hesitating awkwardly at his sides. "I just want to help you. Please, Yuuri." 

“Viktor.” The use of his full name made Viktor startle somewhat. He hadn't heard it on Yuuri's lips since their last night together in St Petersburg. Yuuri swallowed hard, jaw set tight. Then-

“Maybe… We need to end this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can connect with me on [tumblr](http://aphhun.tumblr.com/) and [twitter.](http://twitter.com/aphhun) see you next week ♡


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we finally talk.

_“Yuuri?” Viktor tried again, voice a little hesitant as he moved to close the space between them in the living room. Yuuri took half a step back to near press himself against the windowsill when Viktor got about halfway. Viktor tried not to let it hurt as much it did, focusing instead on putting Yuuri at ease in any way that he could._

_He stopped, hands hesitating awkwardly at his sides. "I just want to help you. Please, Yuuri."_

_“Viktor.” The use of his full name made Viktor startle somewhat. He hadn't heard it on Yuuri's lips since their last night together in St Petersburg. Yuuri swallowed hard, jaw set tight. Then-_

_“Maybe… We need to end this.”_   
  


* * *

 

End this. Viktor felt his throat tighten, grow dry at the words passing Yuuri’s lips. His hands lowered from where they had been hovering in his failed attempt to reach out for Yuuri. The decision to keep from touching him was easily made now. Viktor’s shoulders slumped as his hands came to rest at his sides. He felt heavy.

“I don’t understand,” Viktor sputtered out when he could finally manage to speak around his tongue. “Where is this- why?”

Yuuri didn’t meet his gaze even though Viktor tried to remain persistent, eyes unwavering from where they rested on Yuuri. Instead, the danseur’s eyes were fixed on the floor but unfocused, far off, and wet. Yuuri let out a slow shaky breath, hand coming up to push slowly through his hair. “I’ve just been thinking a lot lately. About us. About me,” he murmured. Viktor all but felt the temperature drop in the room, or maybe just his own.

Had he been so oblivious and missed the fact that Yuuri wanted this for a while? He couldn’t fathom it. They were happy, weren’t they? Viktor had thought so. He was in love. How could any of this be happening?

“Okay,” Viktor’s voice felt hollow around the word. It wavered despite how hard he attempted to control it. “I… I’m just surprised,” he admitted, backing up half a step until he could rest against the arm of Yuuri’s sofa. “I wasn’t expecting this. Not now. Not from you.”

Yuuri seemed to cringe inward at the words, throat bobbing and fingers still knotted into his dark hair. Viktor rested his own hands on his knees, foot tapping nervously. Millions of questions burned under his skin, clawing up this throat to be answered. Shouldn’t Yuuri be obligated to answer them if he was doing this? Still, Viktor couldn’t make himself ask half of them. He wasn’t sure if he wanted the answer to them.

“I didn’t want it to happen like this – God, I didn’t want any of this to happen this way- this was never how things were supposed to… I shouldn’t have- Ugh...” Yuuri trailed off in a shuddering breath, a thinly veiled attempt to stomp back a sob. Viktor flinched at the words tumbling from Yuuri’s mouth but didn’t say anything yet. Yuuri stayed quiet, however, seemingly grasping for words that remained out of his reach. His shoulders were shaking, curling inward.

Viktor couldn’t help but note he hardly looked like the ethereal, graceful ballet dancer he typically did. The timeless sense of sophistication the danseur typically existed in had given way. All of it was stripped away. Yuuri looked nothing more than who he truly was. A man just shy of twenty-four, stressed and drained, full of tension. He was undeniably human in that moment, and the realization hit Viktor like a sharp slap in the face.

Perhaps he had continually overestimated how much Yuuri could hold, or how little things bothered him. Perhaps Yuuri had been better at keeping composure than Viktor could ever realize. He had a burning feeling that nothing he had done since arriving in Moscow could have spurred this onslaught of emotions. That this had to be a long time coming.

How long had he been turning a blind eye?

“Talk to me,” Viktor’s voice strained over the words, nails digging into the fabric of his dress pants. “Yuuri, just say something instead of just- just standing there. If you’ve been thinking about this, just tell m-“

“I’m scared, Viktor, okay?” Yuuri snapped. His voice might have been harsh if it hadn’t cracked over the words; Yuuri’s expression twisted in frustration and remorse, his free hand coming to swipe at his eyes. Viktor felt stunned for a moment, staring on as Yuuri cried in front of him. He wasn’t good at this, he had never been. Yuuri was already in such a fragile state, and Viktor couldn’t stop the aching in his own chest, intensified by the shaky breaths that caught in Yuuri’s throat.

Silence passed between them again. Viktor felt helpless as Yuuri cried, standing in the middle of the living room.

“This isn’t easy,” Yuuri said, head turned away from Viktor.

“You don’t say,” Viktor breathed, dropping his gaze from Yuuri finally. Yuuri wasn’t going to look at him. It hurt to just watch him cry and avoid eye contact, so Viktor spared himself. He swallowed hard, fighting down the tightness in his throat. “I just wish I understood. I don’t know why this is-… I just want to know what I did,” Viktor stressed.

“You didn’t do anything. This isn’t your-… This- This is me. This is me because I think too much and I can’t do this, and I can’t just drag you down too – and you’ll get tired of me.”

Viktor let out a dry, bark of a laugh. Distant. “You think so.”

“I know. That’s how it always is.”

“You think I would choose this if I had a choice? Breaking up when we’re supposed to be together? When I’m here for your birthday and your debut?” Viktor rasped, chest tight. The tremor fought to stay in his voice. “I don’t have a choice here. You’re not giving me one.” Viktor couldn’t help but cringe at his own words. A little harsh, but given the circumstance, he couldn’t be bothered to filter them. He was hurting, taken aback by Yuuri’s sudden declaration that they needed to end everything without even talking about it.

He still felt so in the dark about what was bothering Yuuri to begin with.

Yuuri licked his lips, hand leaving the vice grip it had in his own hair and gesturing vaguely, his movements sharp and choppy. “I don’t- I never planned it like this. I didn’t want to ruin this and I don’t want to end anything… But I feel like we have to because it’s never going to work, and it’s just going to hurt more if we don’t do something about it, and I can’t-”

“Are you listening to yourself? You don’t even want this- Yuuri... Yuuri, please, just breathe. Think for a minute,” Viktor interjected, posture straightening as tension flooded through him. It was hard to stay calm – for what it was worth, Viktor supposed that he wasn’t. He was on the verge of crying too, but managing to keep his tears at bay. But he was tense, down to his toes. His suit felt too hot, frustratingly stifling despite the cold air that still flowed in from the window. “Don’t just make a rash decision because you think it’s the right one.”

“It isn’t that simple,” Yuuri sniffled, voice thick, “It isn’t about what I want, it’s about-“

“Stop it. Just stop. Don’t make this about whatever else because it isn’t about that, or anything that isn’t us. We can work around things. It’s about us. It’s about you. What do you want, Yuuri?”

“I can’t-“

“Christ, listen to me and just- How can you tell me that you ‘have’ to do this if we haven’t even talked about it? You’re making this decision by yourself when it isn’t even what you want, Yuuri!” Viktor got to his feet with a start, fingers tangling in his hair in frustration. “Forget about all the other stuff. What do you want?”

Yuuri flinched at the sharp tone but only floundered for a moment before the words started tumbling out with haste, “I want you to stay with me - but no matter how I look at things I just see all of the reasons you’ll leave eventually! You want me now because I inspire you, and I’m so happy. I’ve never been this happy with anyone in my life, and I’m terrified because you’re going to need someone else eventually and get tired of me. I can’t always inspire you-“

“That isn’t what we’ve ever been about-“

“And I can’t always be in St Petersburg. I’ll be in Moscow- or, or on tour, and you’ll be travelling for competition-“

“I don’t care if we aren’t in the same city-“

“I don’t want to weigh you down and have your career suffer because of me being such a chore to deal with because I can’t- because I’m so- so anxious over the most inconsequential things, and then I’ll distract you and then people will hate me because I’m the person who fooled around and distracted you from what actually matters, and you’ll see it too, and you’ll want to leave me because I’m more trouble than I’m worth if I can’t even stop worrying about ruining everything you’ve worked so hard to build for yourself-“

“You’re not doing any of that, Yuuri-“

“I know!” Yuuri sobbed. It rippled through him, a fresh round of tears streaking tracks down his cheeks and shoulders quaking. Viktor hesitated, reaching out for him again, elbows tucked at his sides and arms outstretched. There was something in Yuuri’s posture, head bowed and curled in on himself, that made Viktor refrain from crowding Yuuri, pulling him into his arms.

Yuuri wiped at his eyes with the sleeve of his suit jacket in a quick, sharp movement. “I know that I’m not doing any of that, that’s what’s making it so frustrating because I know I’m just making th-this mess and bothering you over nothing. But I can’t help it- and even though I know it’s wrong I can’t stop worrying that you’re going to realize too that there’s something better- someone else who’s less of a hassle to be with-“

“You’re not-“

“-and then you’ll leave and I’ll just have to let you go. I don’t want that. I don’t want it to end like that.”

“As if ending it like this is any  _better?_ ” Viktor asked, voice a little harsher than he had meant for it to be, but it made Yuuri fall silent for a moment. Long enough for Viktor to continue, “Yuuri, you said it yourself that this isn’t what you want and that you don’t actually believe any of what’s worrying you. Just breathe. Listen to your own logic here and stop. Did you ever consider what I want?”

“I just thought-“

“I don’t want this either. You’re more than some ticket to a gold medal to me. I wouldn’t use you like that. If you were just an inspiration for my programs I wouldn’t be here- I wouldn’t be giving up days of practicing for the final to be here for your debut and your birthday,” Viktor said, hoping that maybe some firm realism would crack through the picture Yuuri’s anxiety had painted. “The finals aren’t as important to me as you are. I love competing but if losing you is the cost I don’t give a shit about them, Yuuri. I’ll call Yakov and withdraw right now from the rest of the competitive season if that’d make you feel better. Look-” Viktor pulled his phone out from his pocket but Yuuri had wrenched it from his hand before he could so much as unlock it.

“Don’t,” Yuuri croaked, voice watery and expression torn as he wrapped his fingers around Viktor’s phone, knuckles white. “Don’t be stupid about this, Viktor, that’s your entire career you’re talking about, you can’t just-“

“What good is it if it’s in the way of everything else!? Listen to me – actually listen to me. I haven’t had anything but my career for nearly twenty years- it isn’t your place to decide for me what it’s worth. For the first time in years, I have something outside of my work that’s actually worth keeping,” Viktor said seriously, swallowing hard as he looked down at Yuuri, hands hovering at his sides.

It was so hard not to reach out for him, especially now that they were so close. He could near feel the way Yuuri’s form trembled with him this close, still clutching Viktor’s phone in a tight grasp. “I’m not about to just throw in the towel here when you don’t even want to in the first place, and for what? Some medals? My title? I’m scared too, Yuuri. I am. This is so new to me. But I know I don’t want to lose you - we can work through this, please-“

“I don’t know. I don’t know,” Yuuri wavered, tears springing to his eyes again. Viktor couldn’t find the words he needed to try and salvage the situation quick enough. His throat felt raw, tight from stomping down the overwhelming flood of emotion that would leave them both yelling, crying messes. He wanted to be there for Yuuri. He wanted to save this. He had to breathe.

Yuuri backed away hesitantly for a moment, and then with seemingly renewed energy stepped around Viktor, stalking out of the living room.

“Where are you going?” Viktor asked, quick to follow Yuuri as the other headed towards the door. He couldn’t just be leaving. Yuuri wouldn’t leave. He couldn’t leave. Viktor had been so sure that he had started to talk him down from his decision that they needed to end everything they had built up until now. If Yuuri walked out of the apartment right now Viktor knew that he would never be able to convince him that this was an awful decision - he needed to make his point now.

“I can’t breathe-“ Yuuri puffed out, screwing his eyes shut. He had a hand braced on the door of the closet that housed their shoes rather than on the doorknob.

“Yuuri- Yuuri, come on-“ Viktor’s fingers wrapped around the wrist of Yuuri’s hand that trembled at his side.

Yuuri pulled away, fast. “Please- don’t touch me.” Viktor withdrew his hand and stiffened. “Just let me go, okay? I can’t do- I need to think, I need to just- This is-“

“Stop it, Yuuri -  _stop_ , we just need to talk about this.”

“There are so many things that can go wrong, how are you so relaxed about this?” Yuuri whirled on him. His eyes red and irritated from crying, from being rubbed at in futile attempts to get them to stop flowing relentlessly. Viktor took half a step back; partially from surprise at the accusation in Yuuri’s tone, partially as to not crowd Yuuri in against the coat closet door.

“Yuuri…” Viktor tried softly, but couldn’t find the words that he needed. His tongue felt too big in his mouth, useless and heavy.

Yuuri’s eyebrows pinched as he spoke again, voice higher than usual from the strain of forcing the words out, rather than just sobbing and utterly breaking down like he wanted to. “I’m so happy with you, and- and you’ve been nothing but amazing to me... But I can’t stop worrying and just let myself be content with that- I can’t, no matter how hard I try I can’t...” Yuuri let out a shuddering breath, swallowing hard. “I just keep seeing everything that’s going to go wrong- people tell me where things will go wrong and I know that I can’t fix it, and there isn’t anything-... I can never tell if it’s actually happening. And now I feel awful because you’re willing to give up so much for me and all I can do is stand here and keep piling up all of this baggage and it isn’t fair.”

Yuuri slumped back against the door of the coat closet and dug the heels of his hands into his eyes, head bowed. “I’m sorry. I'm so sorry, I’m sorry-”

Viktor had never felt as small as he did when a ragged, ugly sob clawed through Yuuri. Everything felt still, more than it had all evening. Viktor knew that they were standing on the ledge now - that things could go either way. He could be about to calm Yuuri and pull him back. Yuuri could be about to take the plunge and end it all like he had set in motion despite what they both wanted.

Viktor knew that he could never force himself onto Yuuri if he had decided it was ‘best’ if they broke up. Viktor would always do what Yuuri wanted of him. But he couldn’t find it in himself to roll over to Yuuri’s decision tonight. Not when he knew that it wasn’t what Yuuri wanted. Not when he knew that it was the product of anxiety that was built in Yuuri that he had been too blind to soothe before now.

They stood there for a long time, or what felt like a long time. Every time Viktor felt as though he had figured out what he could possibly say the words died on his tongue. Every time another sob quaked Yuuri’s shoulders, Viktor burned more to hold him, as though he could shield him from the onslaught of emotions ravaging him right now. Viktor knew that he had overestimated himself in how well versed he was in Yuuri’s anxiety. He had seen small moments of it. He had never seen this.

It didn’t scare Viktor away to see Yuuri in this state - he didn’t want to see Yuuri like this. Anxious and ripped apart from the inside out by himself, by the things that Viktor had never managed to catch or soothe away. He hated the way Yuuri’s breathing snagged sharply and the sounds that died in the back of his throat as they were overwhelmed by sobs. It made Viktor’s stomach wrench with guilt as he could only stand there and watch Yuuri fall further apart.

He felt foolish, useless, not knowing how to save him from it like he yearned to. He knew that he couldn’t. Viktor had a hard time stomaching that he couldn’t just make it go away for Yuuri. He wished that he was better.

When the silence had stretched on too long and Viktor couldn’t prevent it any longer, he reached out and delicately took Yuuri’s elbow, to prod him away from the edge they found themselves on now. “Please, Yuuri…” he said.

“I’m so sorry,” Yuuri repeated, not moving his hands away from his face but not shaking off Viktor’s gentle grasp either. Reassured, Viktor swallowed quietly.

“Yuuri-“

Yuuri interrupted him before he could get a thought out. “I don’t want this. I don’t want this. I’m sorry. I don’t-”

“Then please, just breathe, Yuuri. We don’t have to do anything rash. I don’t want this either,” Viktor said, voice a warm croon despite his own nervousness. They were teetering so close to the edge. Yuuri was shaking, near vibrating, under Viktor’s fingers on his arm. Viktor felt exhausted. His suit was still too hot. He swallowed, as though it could will his tie to loosen.

“I just don’t know how we’ll…” Yuuri trailed off, shaking his head. Finally, he dropped his hands away from his face. He looked like hell, skin patchy and flushed with irritation and eyes dull; a stinging red against dark brown. It was a sight Viktor never wanted to see. He prayed that he never did have to see again. Yuuri was an ugly crier but it befit the situation, Viktor supposed - nothing about this was waxing poetic about right and wrong with pretty tears and longing looks. It just felt suffocating.

This was not a fight between the two of them. Rather it was a fight he had to undergo next to Yuuri, against Yuuri’s self-doubting nature. It was a fight he didn’t know if they were going to be able to win. But even if just for now they could win round one, gain an advantage to make what may come easier, Viktor would be contented. He just wished he could help Yuuri stop crying.

“We can figure things out. After the final, we can figure it out. We can arrange something. Please, we don’t need to make any huge decisions tonight. Please. Let’s just talk.” It was a small victory when, after a moment of waiting, Yuuri straightened and moved away from the door. Viktor took a few steps back, swallowing quietly as he waited to see where Yuuri was going next. As long as it wasn’t out the door, Viktor felt more at ease.

Yuuri loosened his tie and then moved towards the kitchen. Typical grace was still vacant in his movements as Yuuri settled onto a stool in the kitchen and rubbed at his face slowly, bottom lip snagged between his teeth. It was the closest surface he could feasibly sit on, and so he eased up onto it, gripping the edges to keep himself from teetering off of it.

“It’s eating me up not knowing,” Yuuri said to Viktor after a moment of quiet contemplation, tone a little less shaky than it had been before, but it still seemed strained and raw from earlier sobs. “That’s the worst of it, I think. I know that it’s selfish, and I know we can’t fix it all tonight, right now, but I just c-can’t keep letting it sit and not know. It’s hard, and I know that I’m wrong, and I wasn’t thinking, but I thought that just ending… I thought it would make it easier on you if I was going to be like…  _this_ ,” Yuuri continued, head tipping back as he let out a deep sigh.

Viktor nodded his head in understanding. After a moment he crossed the short distance to the kitchen as well and paused in front of Yuuri, fingers dusting over his knee. “Can I make you a few promises then? To help make knowing easier, even if we can’t fix everything tonight?”

Yuuri’s head bowed forward now, lashes dipping as he studied Viktor’s hand on his leg. “It depends,” Yuuri said, voice dull. His words nearly sounded slurred, like they weren’t even coming from his own mouth. The apartment was too quiet now, absent of the roaring that had filed Yuuri’s ears. He wished Makkachin wasn’t panting so loud. He wished the noise from the street below didn’t sound like it was in the living room. He was beyond overstimulated as the aftershocks of his panic attack settled in.

Yuuri didn’t look up at Viktor, but Viktor imagined it was more due to the weepy tears that will still leaking from Yuuri’s eyes. Licking his lips, Viktor took a moment to consider his words carefully. The flurry of haste had seemed to have drained away now. The luxury of being able to pick and choose with care was a blessing. “Three things,” Viktor proposed, posture stooping slightly so he was a little more level with Yuuri than before.

“Okay,” Yuuri said. With the permission to go forward, Viktor sucked a steadying breath through his nose and rested his hands on Yuuri’s thighs

“I promise that I’m not going to go anywhere unless you want me to. Really want me to. Not because you’re scared, or because I’m scared. This is scary. But that isn’t a reason to throw everything away. So... I won’t go anywhere unless you’re actually sick of me,” Viktor said, voice falling quiet as he spoke, words rounded out and gentle compared to the sharp desperation that had mounted between them earlier.

Yuuri still didn’t look up but nodded his head limply at the assurance. Viktor took it as a step in the right direction. That was the big one to tackle – Yuuri wasn’t going to go anywhere, and neither was Viktor. More importantly, Yuuri wasn’t going to end this due to a lapse in judgement.

Viktor managed to pull one of Yuuri’s hands from the grip he maintained on the stool and slipped his own hand into Yuuri’s instead. “And I promise that, even if we’re apart for a long time, I’m not going to get bored of you. I don’t care about distance if coping with it means you’re still mine and I’m still yours, okay? I knew that we weren’t going to be in the same city when we started this. It will be hard, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t worth it, and it doesn’t mean it isn’t possible. I’ll visit you. You’ll visit me. I’ll send private jets to pick you up for weekend rendezvous if that’s what you want,” Viktor rambled, dipping his head down so he could peek at Yuuri’s expression.

Utter relief washed over him when Yuuri cracked a smile. Albeit weak and tired, it was a smile all the same. “You don’t have a jet,” Yuuri mumbled quietly, twining his fingers together with Viktor’s. “But okay.”

“One more,” Viktor insisted. He hesitated, stomach twisting. Despite the honesty in what he knew he wanted to say it was hard to find the right words. Putting himself on the line was scary, but Yuuri had laid near everything on the table tonight. It would be wrong of him not to do the same. He spoke slowly. “I promise, when we’re ready, we’ll be together. Properly. We’ll move somewhere, where ever you want to. We’ll live together in a house or an apartment... We’ll have a place for us, and Makkachin and Vicchan. And we’ll be together, and there will be no question of what we’re doing, because I-…“

Finally, Yuuri looked up, slowly seeking out Viktor’s gaze. “You?”

“I need you. I can’t imagine being without you anymore, Yuuri. The idea of this stopping here is just...“

“I know.”

“Please. Let me promise you those things. When your performances are over and the Grand Prix is over I’ll start looking into what we can do to make it easier. I’ll see what I can do. If I can move to Moscow. When the full season is over in the spring we’ll do something to make it better if it still hurts like this. I’ll move here so we can be with each other.”

“I don’t want you to do that,” Yuuri protested quietly.

“I want to. I want to be with you.”

“I don’t want you to throw everything away for me.”

“It isn’t throwing it away,” Viktor assured Yuuri, “I’m going to have to retire soon, Yuuri. I can’t keep… With my old injuries, it isn’t likely I have more than a few more seasons. I don’t want to keep planning everything around my career. It’s lonely that way. I don’t want to be like that anymore,” he continued. For a moment he paused, stomping down the twisting in his stomach.

Viktor continued, chasing the nerves out of his tone so there was nothing but warm certainty left. “I want to plan for us.” He found himself studying Yuuri’s eyes now that he had managed to hold his gaze. Perhaps it was a bold declaration after their first major speed bump in their relationship, but Viktor knew it was true. He didn’t want to plan for a future that didn’t have Yuuri in it anymore. Now more so than ever, it seemed important to make that clear.

“Oh,” Yuuri breathed out quietly, swallowing hard. But he didn’t look panicked. He almost looked calm now, though there were still flickers of worry that danced in his eyes. Viktor knew that they had managed to navigate the swell of the storm, but they certainly weren’t finished. They had managed to avoid a collapse, but there were still things to be done until the situation was able to rest entirely. Viktor wasn’t naive enough to think that what must be a few weeks’ worth of anxiety could be soothed in a single evening. But they were a step closer, and Viktor knew that they were better than they had been.

“Are we okay?” Viktor asked, thumb coming up to brush along Yuuri’s cheekbone, still damp with passive tears. There was a beat of silence before Yuuri nodded, but stayed silent. Viktor didn’t mind taking the lead. “We’re still together?” Another nod. “And we’ll talk to each other? When things like this start to build up, we’ll talk before it gets this bad,” Viktor said.

“I’m sorry,” Yuuri offered again, nodding his head. Viktor smiled sadly, reaching a hand up to brush Yuuri’s hair back out of his eyes.

“It’s alright.  If we’re okay, I am too,” Viktor said, swallowing quietly. “Do you think having some space tonight would be good for you?” In the few times Viktor had exposure to Yuuri’s panic attacks (though they seemed to pale in comparison to tonight’s head-spinning levels) he had come to realize that afterward Yuuri generally liked to be left to decompress on his own. Viktor didn’t take offense to it - he imagined that was how Yuuri had been forced to deal with things for a long time. Breaking away from that sort of coping wouldn’t happen magically now that Viktor was part of his life.

“Yeah,” Yuuri said softly, grip tightening on Viktor’s hand. “You don’t have to go, though- you could just…”

“I can get a hotel room for the night. I’ll give you back your apartment so you don’t have to worry about that. Just relax and I’ll stay out of your hair. I’ll come back in the morning and make breakfast for you?” Viktor went on, trying to read Yuuri’s reaction to his offer. He didn’t seem opposed to it.

“You wouldn’t mind?” Yuuri asked quietly, guilt seeping into his tone.

“Not at all,” Viktor said, managing to conjure up a smile. “I think it would be good for you to have your own space back to calm down in, without me just sitting around.”

“I haven’t been a very good host,” Yuuri let out a dry laugh, eyes falling to their joined hands.

Viktor shook his head. “You’ve been perfect. There are going to be hiccups. We can talk more in the morning if you want, or we don’t have to. But I’m going to go and change out of my suit and pack some clothes for tomorrow morning, okay?”

“Okay,” Yuuri murmured, giving Viktor’s hand one more squeeze before letting go so Viktor could leave to the bedroom. Viktor’s other hand fell away from where it had come to rest at the nape of Yuuri’s neck. Viktor pulled away from Yuuri at the counter and started down the hall.

Yuuri felt bad even though Viktor assured him that he didn’t mind leaving for the night, but knew that it was the right decision. He wasn’t going to calm down entirely for a few more hours and he would feel poorly if Viktor was just sitting around watching him like that. Yuuri knew that being like this made the people around him feel helpless. In turn, it made him feel frustrated, embarrassed, and more anxious that he was upsetting them.

Yuuri was relieved regardless. There was no doubt in his mind that Viktor was leaving for Yuuri’s own benefit, not leaving because he didn’t want to deal with him anymore. There was too much care in Viktor’s offer for it to be born of indifference toward Yuuri’s emotionally charged state.

Knowing that Viktor had been so attentive to at least pick up on Yuuri’s tendency to withdraw following panic attacks made warmth spread in Yuuri’s chest. It may not be the romanticized post-anxiety cuddling that seemed to soothe others, but Yuuri felt just as much affection swell inside because Viktor was willing to show care for him in this way instead.

He hardly noticed Viktor’s comings and goings for the next few moments, registering the sounds of Viktor in the bedroom changing and hanging his suit, rifling through drawers to change his clothes and pack things for the following morning. At some point Viktor made a quick phone call - to book a room, Yuuri imagined. He stayed rooted on the kitchen stool. He felt like if he stood up his legs would just betray him and turn to jelly. He removed his suit jacket and tie, putting them on the counter behind him. Yuuri was unbuttoning the first few buttons of his shirt when Viktor came back out to the kitchen.

“Are you okay?” Viktor asked, drawing Yuuri out of his thoughts. There was a small bag packed, much more modest than Yuuri had ever seen Viktor use as an overnight bag. There was an unspoken reassurance to it - Viktor definitely planned on coming back in the morning. He wasn’t leaving. He was going to come back when the sun came up and Yuuri had shaken off the rest of his lingering panic.

“Yeah,” Yuuri said softly, swallowing down the lump that rose in his throat. It was a new sort of emotion now, not crying out of frustration or fear but just raw emotion - touched that Viktor was being this patient for him. Yuuri stood up from the stool to stand in front of Viktor. “I’m sorry tonight was ruined, I know you were looking forward to dinner. And that you have to go to a hotel-”

“Don’t apologize, Yuuri,” Viktor said, hand falling to rest delicately at the dip of Yuuri’s waist. “We can get dinner some other night. But make sure you eat something tonight, okay? I’m going to leave Makkachin with you too. Makkachin will want to play guard dog for you tonight, I think,” Viktor said with a soft laugh. Yuuri hadn’t seemed to have taken notice of it, but Makkachin had seemed more prepared to stop Viktor from upsetting Yuuri throughout their argument earlier. ‘ _Disloyal pooch,_ ’ Viktor thought, though it was overrun with fondness that Makkachin was so taken with Yuuri.

“Thank you,” Yuuri said. He would be thankful to have the older poodle around. Between Makkachin and Vicchan, the bed certainly wouldn’t feel as empty.

“I’m going to get going, then. Eat something. Call me if you need anything. I’ll text you later before I go to bed to see if you need anything but, otherwise, I’ll stay out of your hair, okay?” Viktor said, rambling a little. Something about it reminded Yuuri of his mother before he used to go away on training camps for ballet. Despite not really wanting to associate the love he had for his mother with the love he felt for Viktor, the sentiment rang true. Viktor cared for him near unconditionally.

“You eat something too,” Yuuri said, pausing for a moment before he stepped forward to wrap his arms around Viktor’s waist, face tucked into Viktor’s shoulder. “Thank you for being so…”

“Thank you for listening,” Viktor replied quietly, arms curling around Yuuri to draw him closer into his chest. “We’re okay, Yuuri. Please don’t doubt that,” he murmured, and Yuuri found himself repeating it -  _we’re okay_  - words pressed into the crook of Viktor’s neck like it was some sort of mantra.

Pulling away was hard but eventually, Viktor forced himself to, only pausing to kiss Yuuri’s temple as he drew back and looked down at Yuuri. “I’ll see you in the morning? I’ll use the spare to get in.”

Yuuri nodded, hands resting on Viktor’s side as he pulled back from the hug marginally. “Okay. Okay- see you in the morning, yeah,” he breathed quietly, studying Viktor closely before finally willing himself to let go.

“Don’t forget to eat.”

“You’ve reminded me so many times,” Yuuri laughed tiredly, nodding his head, “There’s no way that I could. Now go, or there won’t be any cabs to take you. I’ll be okay. A few hours to calm down and sleep… I’ll be good.”

“Goodnight, Yuuri. I…” Viktor trailed, licking at his bottom lip for a moment. The words stayed caught in his throat, as hard as he willed them to finally be said between them.

Yuuri’s gaze warmed despite the exhaustion evident in them. “I know. I do too.” Viktor was a little surprised at the certainty and understanding in Yuuri’s words but found himself smiling like a fool. He couldn’t help but pull him into another tight hug, pressing his lips against the top of Yuuri’s head. When he pulled away this time he forced himself to step back and put his bag over his shoulder.

“Okay. I’m going to really go now. I’ll see you in the morning. Call me if you need anything, okay? I’ll have my phone on me,” Viktor said, stepping backward until he stood at the coat closet. He turned to put his shoes and jacket on, pausing again to look back at Yuuri. Then he slipped out of the door. Yuuri listened to the sound of Viktor’s footfalls on the stairs until they echoed out into the sounds of the building and the street below.

Yuuri stood in the kitchen for a long time, looking at but not seeing the time on the microwave. Then, he crossed the apartment to close the living room window, went into the bathroom to change into tights and a t-shirt, putting on joggers and a sweater over those. He paused to ensure the dogs had water, cooing to them that everything was okay. They seemed to be calm enough, though in retrospect Yuuri worried that he and Viktor had stressed them out during their argument. He would lavish them in attention when he got back.

After putting on his shoes and coat, gathering up his training bag near the door, his keys, and his wallet, Yuuri started out on the short walk to Lilia’s dance studio.

Wasting away hours was easier there, out of his apartment and separated from reminders of the stressors of the evening. The studio was shabby and small but it was quiet, and it was his to use. By the time Yuuri had returned from the studio it was well beyond midnight, stretching into what he was sure some people would consider early morning. It felt good, despite that. During his walk home, he saw early commuters and shop owners starting their mornings before the sun. Pleasant fatigue had settled into his muscles, warming him despite the cool temperature that had steeped the night air.

Time between entering the apartment and reaching his bed was blurry. Yuuri managed to collect the scattered pieces of his suit to hang them before climbing into the shower and washing off the sweat from hours of dancing aimlessly, working off the extra energy. He felt the tautness in his limbs melt away under the steady warm stream.

He left the shower and dressed in loose clothes before climbing into the bed. It felt emptier than it had in the past few days, Viktor’s absence sorely noted. Makkachin and Vicchan soon managed to worm their way up too, migrating from the living room floor to join him. They helped fill the space. With their added weight Yuuri found he was able to doze off eventually, exhaustion from the stress finally washing over him.

\--

“We hope you enjoyed your stay with us, Mr. Nikiforov. Have a pleasant time in Moscow.” Despite the overly chipper nature of the receptionist's tone, Viktor left a thoughtful tip before leaving the hotel lobby, small bag over his shoulder and phone in hand to call for a car. The night spent in the hotel, while not ideal, had been the best option. He hoped that it had given Yuuri the space he needed to relax and come down from their…

_‘Argument?’_  Viktor thought, pursing his lips as he waited near the curb for his car to arrive,  _‘It doesn’t feel right to call it that…’_

Well. Regardless of what one wanted to call the anxiety-induced-horror that had been last night, Viktor hoped that Yuuri felt better this morning. When he had texted last night to check on Yuuri he had only received a very short reply of  _‘I’m doing okay’_  before going to bed. Despite his desire to pry, to call and make sure he was  _actually_  doing okay, Viktor managed to hold back. Yuuri had needed his space last night, and Viktor was happy to give it to him despite how hard it was.

Sleep hadn’t come easily to him, frustrated at himself more than anything. The temptation to beat himself over the times he should have said something was too prominent to find rest quickly. Viktor wasn’t sure how many times he had replayed the same scenarios in his head over and over again before sheer fatigue had finally claimed him.

The drive to Yuuri’s apartment was longer than it should have been, morning traffic standing between him and where he desperately wanted to be. Given the early hour, Viktor doubted very much that Yuuri was awake. Even on a good day, Yuuri was a night owl. If trying to sleep last night had been anything for Yuuri like it had been for Viktor, he doubted that Yuuri would wake soon. Viktor vowed to let Yuuri sleep when he arrived. Tomorrow would be a long day for him – the debut was just over twenty-four hours away now.

Viktor ignored the shuffling and shadows of feet behind the door of Yuuri’s neighbour as he paused to get the spare key and open Yuuri’s door, quietly stepping inside and shutting it behind him. One day, Viktor would wave at the neighbour through the peephole. This morning was not that day.

The apartment was quiet in morning stillness. Sunlight came in through the windows where the curtains were cracked in the living room, and it seemed Yuuri had taken a moment or two to clean before going to sleep. Viktor glanced at the time display on the microwave –  _9:36_  – before he quietly shuffled down the hallway to the bedroom.

Yuuri was swathed in blankets and dogs, still sleeping peacefully. Makkachin’s head hardly lifted when Viktor paused in the doorway to watch the three of them for a moment. Makkachin was tucked up against Yuuri’s back, and Vicchan settled near Yuuri’s feat. It was a sight that could warm any heart, but Viktor refrained from taking the photo he was so tempted to capture. With reassurance that Yuuri wouldn’t try to end things on a whim anymore, Viktor rationalized that there would be many other mornings he could take photos like that. Mornings were things didn’t feel so delicate, a calm after the storm.

Instead, Viktor slinked away on his tip toes, back to the kitchen

To pass the time Viktor returned to the kitchen, looking through Yuuri’s fridge first before busying himself with tidying further. He did what dishes were left in the sink from the day prior, wiped down the countertops, straightened up things as needed. It felt better to keep his hands busy than just lounge on Yuuri’s couch until it made sense to start making breakfast.

After managing to waste away nearly an hour, Viktor started to pull ingredients for breakfast. Cooking was therapeutic in the sense it was this mindless. He let himself be consumed by the feeling of auto-pilot as he cooked for them both, absorbed in thoughts that finally weren’t so heavy. Being back in the apartment made things start to feel right again.

The first signs of Yuuri stirring came when Viktor was nearly finished cooking. There was shuffling in the bedroom before Viktor heard Makkachin jump down from the bed with a heavy thud, and a tired sigh from Yuuri travelled down the hallway faintly. Viktor kept at the task at hand, however, but couldn’t help the glances he stole over his shoulder in the direction of the bedroom to see if Yuuri was on his way out yet or not. After a few minutes, Yuuri emerged, hair mussed from sleep and still in the clothes he had slept in.

“Good morning,” Viktor said warmly, turning away from the stove momentarily to greet Yuuri properly.

“Morning,” Yuuri mumbled back softly, seeming a little sheepish. Viktor had expected as much. Yuuri would warm up as the day wore on, Viktor was sure. After such a tense night and Viktor spending the night away to let Yuuri breathe, he hadn’t anticipated anything other than Yuuri being a little flustered. But it wasn’t the same nervous quiet they had been stewing in before. Everything felt lighter this morning.

“Did you sleep okay?” Viktor asked, and Yuuri merely nodded. “Good,” Viktor said, turning back to the stove and letting quiet fall over them again. Yuuri was still half asleep. Any conversation right now would definitely be flat.

“Do you want coffee?” Yuuri asked after a moment spent in silence. Comfortable silence – Viktor was happy that feeling was back.

“I made a tea already,” he admitted, throwing a grin over his shoulder and gesturing with a free hand to a mug that sat on the counter. “I didn’t think to get coffee ready for you. Sorry.”

“No, don’t apologize,” Yuuri said, getting up to his feet. He quietly shuffled around the kitchen before the coffee machine whirred to life from another end of the counter. Then Viktor felt arms wrapped around his midsection and the weight of Yuuri leaning against him on his side. “How was… Was the hotel okay?”

Viktor laughed. “Well, my wall-neighbours were definitely having a better night than I was,” he joked.

“Oh,” Yuuri let out. Viktor started to backtrack at the tone of it.

“But it was fine! It was good to sleep without Makkachin kicking me. And the view was nice, even though it was dark. I had never stayed at that hotel before so it was… fun.”

“That’s good,” Yuuri murmured, head resting against Viktor’s shoulder. In turn, Viktor’s hand reached down and found Yuuri’s waist. It wasn’t exactly an ideal position for returning an embrace and trying to cook at the same time, but having a hand on Yuuri helped ground him slightly more. Eventually, Yuuri pulled away to retrieve his coffee and Viktor put their breakfast on plates as it finished cooking.

“We should eat by the window,” Yuuri said, hesitating for a moment as he gripped his mug tighter, “And, ah, we should talk. I feel like you probably want to talk.”

“I’d like to,” Viktor said evenly, holding a plate in each hand, forks balanced on each, “Only if that’s alright with you. We don’t have to.”

“I think we should too,” Yuuri said, nodding a few times before moving over towards the living room. Typically they had been eating at the island in the kitchen during Viktor’s stay, but the light that filtered in through the window was pleasant enough. It was softened by the coverage of clouds that hung still in the sky, rain quietly pattering against the glass. Even if Viktor had never been one for gloomy weather, he had to admit today there was comfort to be found in the atmosphere it offered.

Once they had both sat, a plate balanced on their laps and mugs placed on the windowsill, Yuuri spoke again. “I want to apologize,” was all he managed to say before Viktor gave him a look.

“You don’t have to apologize for last night,” he said, waving a hand as he spoke. “It was a bit of a shock to the system, but you don’t have to be sorry. I understand-“

“Not just for last night. If you’d let me finish,” Yuuri said, a hint of amusement in his voice. Viktor raised a brow, lips twitching upward at the tone. Yuuri certainly must be feeling better then. He was coming around. “I wanted to apologize for last night, but I also wanted to apologize for not saying anything. It wasn’t fair to me or you to leave you in the dark when I was worried about this. So from now on, I’d like to try being more… Forward with what going on.”

Viktor sat up a little straighter. “Okay,” he said, “I still don’t think that you need to apologize.  _I’m_ sorry for not asking you what was wrong sooner, or seeing what I could do to help you before it turned into a panic attack for you.”

“They’re going to happen – which, I mean…”

“Sucks,” Viktor supplied when Yuuri trailed off for a long moment.

“Yeah, which sucks. But they’ve been sucking for over ten years. They’re a little less awful when I have someone to help me through them. Phichit used to when we lived together in New York. And before that, my sister, Mari, would always help me out. I didn’t want you to be bothered by them but… Having you understand was nice, even if it’s embarrassing.”

“You have anxiety,” Viktor said, “That shouldn’t be embarrassing.”

“But it is – it’s just sort of how it works. Turning into a shaking, crying mess in front of people will never  _not_ be embarrassing, Vitya.” Yuuri took a long drink of his coffee and looked out the window. “I’m thankful that you understand.”

“I’ve never dealt with anxiety like that,” Viktor said after a moment of quiet contemplation. “But I have to an extent. My sports psychologist said at one point she was surprised I didn’t have worse anxiety given my profession and my injury. It doesn’t happen for me often.”

“You’re lucky, then - I mean, sort of. I don’t get performance anxiety as often anymore but in every other aspect it’s still annoying,” Yuuri murmured. It felt easy to talk to Viktor about it so candidly. Something about that was refreshing, just being able to discuss it without it feeling so heavy. After last night, Yuuri supposed. “What do you see your sports psychologist for?” he asked, before amending, “If you don’t mind, that is.”

“I don’t mind,” Viktor waved away the concern. “I started seeing her after I fell and injured myself. Yakov figures I ought to have been seeing her years before that to deal with the stress of competition but I was… Well, too stubborn. I thought I could do it alone. After trying to make my comeback I decided to start seeing someone to help level things out. From there it just sort of became a habit, I suppose. This season has been heavy expectation wise so I see her more. We talk about work, pressure, what’s going on in my life – whatever might be impacting my performance.”

“So, everything,” Yuuri said, and Viktor nodded.

“Sometimes she’s too nosy. She wanted to know all about you.”

“You told her about me?” Yuuri asked, raising a brow.

“Nothing bad,” Viktor assured, “She just noticed that I seemed to be in a better mood. I was in a big slump emotionally last season, so when I perked up it was noticeable to her. I just told her about you, our lunch dates, breaking into Yubileyny-” Yuuri groaned.

“Great,” he mused, “She’ll think I’m encouraging you to commit felonies.”

“Actually she thought it was romantic,” Viktor said with a grin. Yuuri let out a short laugh and turned his sights back out the window. Viktor was quiet for a moment then, studying Yuuri before speaking once more. “About last night, though…”

“Mm,” Yuuri hummed quietly, pushing the food around his plate slowly.

“Whenever I would have sessions with my psych she would do this thing – whatever I was worried about she’d give me an outcome scenario, or at least something I could do to fix whatever was stressing me,” Viktor started, a hint of caution in his tone. “Do you think something like that might help you? I don’t want to play therapist for you – I can’t do that. But I can tell you how I feel about things.”

Yuuri raised a brow, quiet for a moment before looking back at Viktor. “I mean… It’s not going to hurt anything, but most of them are stupid – and wrong, I know most of them are wrong already. Most of them we talked about last night too. I really don’t mind waiting until after the Finals to dig into it…”

“Nonsense,” Viktor chided, “Tell me what’s hurting you right now. If you know it’s wrong, I’ll just tell you how it is. We’ll just debunk what’s been eating at you. Start with an easy one.”

Yuuri was quiet for a long time. Viktor waited patiently until Yuuri started to speak again, looking back out the window. “It bothers me sort of that we can’t tell anyone.” Yuuri’s finger circled around the rim of his coffee mug.

“Oh?”

“It’s… selfish- but I guess it just makes me feel… It’s frustrating to have what we do, but can’t just embrace it. It feels like we’re hiding rather than just being private,” Yuuri spoke slowly, words clumsily offered. Viktor was quiet before replying.

“The press can be crazy. Fans can be crazy.”

“I know,” Yuuri said.

“I can release some press. Or I could post a photo on Instagram if you would rather be less formal about it. I just don’t want them to bother you, but, if you think that you’ll be okay – if it would make you happier,” Viktor said, “I didn’t know that it was bothering you. I would love to not have to hide it away if you won’t be scared away by some extra media attention.”

“But - the café?” Yuuri said, brows pinching together in slight confusion.

“The café?” Viktor repeated.

“You weren’t upset because they might find out? With the reporter, and the photos?”

“No. I mean,  _yes_ , but not why you think. I don’t like when they snoop around like that, but I guess I was a little overprotective because… Well, it’s  _you_ ,” Viktor confessed, unable to deny he certainly was protective over Yuuri. After spending the last ten years heavily in the public eye, he knew it could be daunting. “I just thought that you might prefer to keep things quiet, and I thought that it would be better for you until the Grand Prix was over since they usually leave me alone between competitions. But if it’s upsetting you to keep it quiet I don’t mind at all. What’s a few more photos here and there, especially if they’re of us happy?” Viktor laughed, and although it was a fatigued sound it brought a little warmth to Yuuri.

“It’s selfish. If you don’t want to I really do understand-“

“I want to,” Viktor said firmly, “I’d love for everyone to know how happy you make me.” Viktor often tried to keep his private life private, but it wasn’t as though half the internet hadn’t been speculating about their relationship for nearly a month now. The press would buzz about it for a few weeks. After the Grand Prix it would die down, he was sure. It was a small sacrifice, in his eyes.

“Okay,” Yuuri said, nodding slowly. “Okay. So that’s… Okay.”                                    

“Alright? Another then. An Instagram post gushing about you is too easy, I can handle more than that,” Viktor smiled.

“I know you said-“ Yuuri cut himself off and took a slow breath in through his nose. He started again, voice objective. “We’re going to be far apart for long stretches of time. And it’s already been so difficult being long distance for the last month alone - if it goes on too long I’m just worried it will get too…  _Much_. It won’t feel like it’s worth the effort if we can’t be together.”

“I can commute to work. Live here, drive to St Petersburg,” Viktor replied off-handedly. Yuuri huffed out a dry sound, a ghost of a laugh, and levelled his sights on Viktor.

“Be serious, I’m not going to list out everything so you can joke about them,” Yuuri deadpanned around a mouthful of food.

“Sorry,” Viktor apologized, lifting Yuuri’s hand to press a kiss against his knuckles. “I can come to see you on my rest days, every other week at the very least. But I’m not going to get bored just because you’re not within arm’s reach of me. I’ll be happy that you’re here doing what you love. Another, Yuuri.”

“You’ll lose interest in me if I can’t inspire you.” Viktor had been waiting for this one – a confusing bomb that had been dropped the night before, something that had swirled around his mind last night, trying to figure out where the idea had been conceived, to begin with. Still, the concerns seemed to be rolling off of Yuuri’s tongue more easily now. There was less hesitance in voicing the fears that had been swelling inside of Yuuri for so long now. Viktor was happy to have lowered the defensive walls at least this much.

Viktor smiled fondly. “You inspire me because I like you. I don’t like you because you inspire me. It’s normal for inspiration to come and go, but it doesn’t mean how I feel for you is going to change. I won’t start disliking you or resenting you if you don’t inspire me for a season of work. You’re not going to fit in every program I choreograph for the rest of my career. Even so, it’s your creativity that inspires me the most, not how well you fit my theme this year, Yuuri.”

Yuuri raised a brow, a little startled by the answer. “My creativity?”

“Seeing you dance my program helped put the emotion into perspective. It’s less that I see  _you_  in the meaning of the program – well, I do in some ways, the fear of losing you,” Viktor amended mostly to himself, lips ghosting over Yuuri’s wrist before lowering his hand so Yuuri could continue to eat. Viktor started again. “But more than that, it was seeing your interpretation put some art back into it. I was being too technical.”

“Oh,” Yuuri murmured softly, brows furrowing. “That’s… I mean- not what I expected. But definitely better. I thought it would be some sort of… self-fulfilling prophecy. It’s not so bad that way.”

“Mm,” Viktor hummed, tilting his head as he studied Yuuri’s face. There was a little more life coming back to Yuuri’s expressions, but he still looked dog-tired. “Not so bad when you have the whole picture to look at. Now. One more?” Viktor prompted.

Yuuri nodded. He was quiet for a long moment, seeming to consider his words. “I… I worry that I’ll worry too much and drive you away because I’m a handful- because I pull things like what happened last night and ruin what should have been a nice evening. I know you said you don’t mind but I know it’s inconvenient.”

“You’re not inconvenient because you have emotions,” Viktor replied simply, “We’ll learn how to cope together. I’ll learn how to help you best when you start to panic – better yet, I’ll learn how to help you prevent them  _before_  you panic,” Viktor said.

“It isn’t easy,” Yuuri warned, offering a solemn look.

“I don’t mind. Bad days and nights like last night are going to happen. I have them too. Not anxiety but… Depressive episodes, sort of – they’re not as intense as some people’s but they happen, so, ah,” Viktor paused, tone a little uncertain. Yuuri gave him a reassuring nod, reaching out for his hand. Viktor had never felt so grateful to lock their fingers together, reassured. He continued, “Here’s a deal – we help each other through the times it gets rough. We don’t worry about being a handful because we’re both handfuls. I think that’s why we work.”

“Because we’re both high maintenance people?” Yuuri asked with a short laugh.

“I was thinking because we both understand what it’s like, but high maintenance too. I’ll never deny being high maintenance, and I like doting on you,” Viktor replied, flashing an easy grin in Yuuri’s direction. “Do we have a deal?”

“I think so. But still, I’m going to worry. I’m always going to worry,” Yuuri said apologetically.

“Then I guess I’m always going to be here to help you when you worry. I don’t make the rules, Yuuri, you’re stuck with me. Even if you always worry, eventually you won’t feel like you have to worry about us. I’m sure of that,” Viktor said.

“I’m not sure what I did to deserve someone as patient as you,” Yuuri mused, gaze locking with Viktor’s for a moment. Eye contact was a good sign, Viktor swelled with reassurance. Slowly Yuuri was coming back into himself. It was reassuring to see the subtle shifts continuing. Yuuri let out a soft sigh and his lips turned upward in a smile. “I feel… I feel better.”

“Good. I’m just sorry that I don’t have more solid answers for you yet. But we’ll figure things out together. But for now, if you’re feeling better, I think we should focus on something else,” Viktor stated.

“Like?” Yuuri prompted.

“I know someone who’s making a very prestigious debut in just over a day,” Viktor said, “I would hate to distract him from channeling his energy  _there_  where it counts. So for the rest of the day, we help you relax, do what needs to be done so you’re in the right frame of mind for tomorrow.”

Yuuri laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Is it bad that I almost forgot somehow?”

“Stress will do that to you,” Viktor reasoned, setting his empty plate aside. “So as long as we’re okay – and you’re okay – let’s focus on that instead.”

“I’m definitely okay,” Yuuri assured him before he leaned across to close the gap between them. He kissed Viktor delicately, lips hardly brushing in a chaste kiss before he pulled away. “And we’re okay too. Crisis averted – sorry, again.”

“It’s okay,” Viktor assured him, since it seemed at this point the insistence Yuuri  _‘didn’t have to apologize’_  was falling on deaf ears. He would reassure instead. Yuuri smiled, and so Viktor knew that it was well received.

“I forgot to mention, though,” Yuuri started, “I only remembered last night after you left when I was just thinking about everything. But there’s a… party, of sorts? After the performance on Saturday. I was wondering if you would want to go to that.”

“It depends,” Viktor asked, resting his arm on the windowsill and cradling his jaw in his hand. Yuuri tilted his head in question, prompting Viktor to continue. “Am I going as Viktor Nikiforov, Yuuri Katsuki’s friend through Yuri Plisetsky? Or am I going as Viktor, boyfriend of the  _amazing and talented_  Yuuri Katsuki, supportive and absolutely smitten?”

Yuuri let out a short laugh. “I was hoping as my humble yet quietly enthusiastic boyfriend,” he said, seeking out Viktor’s free hand. “If we aren’t keeping it from the press anymore, I’d like for you to be there as my date, if you want that too.”

“I couldn’t possibly want anything  _more_  than I want that. I’d be happy to go,” Viktor said.

“It isn’t a fun party – that’s your fair warning. There’s a lot of sponsors and patrons of the ballet. A lot of it is entertaining rich old people so they sign cheques,” Yuuri warned, making a face of discontent as he spoke. Viktor knew that, given Yuuri’s acclaim as a danseur, he must have been to more than his fair share of parties like that. He couldn’t imagine Yuuri enjoying them much.

“Then you’ll have to pay back the favour for me. After the Grand Prix Finals, there’s a banquet. Same concept. Stuffy people in suits, schmoozing with sponsors,” Viktor offered, freeing his hand from Yuuri’s to set Yuuri’s empty plate aside as well. Then Viktor reached out for Yuuri and tugged him closer. Yuuri took the hint, and let Viktor pull him into his lap. Yuuri settled against his chest, relaxing against Viktor slowly. Content spread through Viktor, arms winding around Yuuri to maintain the closeness. After last night he couldn’t help but desire to have Yuuri near.

“Sounds boring,” Yuuri said, resting his head against Viktor’s. “Do I get to go as Viktor Nikiforov’s boyfriend too?” he hummed, closing his eyes. Viktor tucked his face into the crook of Yuuri’s neck and his hold tightened.

“I definitely want you there as my boyfriend at the very least,” Viktor said warmly as he closed his eyes.

As Yuuri seemed to only lean in against him more contently at that, listening to the patter of rain against the window and Makkachin and Vicchan settling in on the floor nearby, Viktor felt at ease.

There was no doubt in Viktor’s mind that they were back from the strain Moscow had known so far. They were okay and they were more in tune with what the other needed than they had been before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the delay on this chapter! i ended up rewriting it entirely on short notice. between finals, moving back home, and getting ready for my summer job, writing turned into a very slow process! hopefully the happy result makes up for the wait, though! 
> 
> beta'd by the amazing [snow_falls](http://archiveofourown.org/users/snow_falls) ♡♡ she has some really wonderful works on the go right now, such as the cutest high school au _ever_ for viktuuri. check out [I'll put us back together at heart](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10482867/chapters/23128344)!
> 
> next time, we move forward to yuuri's ballet debut and some more moscow shenanigans. until then, you can connect with me on [my tumblr](http://aphhun.tumblr.com) and [my twitter](http://twitter.com/aphhun), or in the comments below. see you!


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